Celena Costello, Master of Potions
by Freelance Fanfictioner
Summary: Celena Costello, a young and beautiful witch, arrives to become the new Master of Potions in Hogwarts. Her colleague Professor Snape is not the most pleasant of men, but perhaps there is more in this gloomy old bachelor than meets the eye.
1. The new Master of Potions

A/N: When I was a teen, I boarded the Hogwarts Express and never looked back. Severus Snape soon became my favorite, most complex and enigmatic character of the series. I began writing my Snape Saga after Order of the Phoenix came out, chiefly for my own pleasure, and finished it well after the Deathly Hallows was released. This is the first story of the series, which is largely canon-compliant, except that Snape does not die at the end of DH. His death always seemed hugely unfair to me. Join me if you believe that Severus Snape deserves to live, rebuild his character, and be happy in years to come!

"I can tell when you think I'm wrong, Severus." She frowned. "And I know you do this time."

"Suppose I do." The man called Severus replied coldly. "Would it make the slightest difference? I think not, and therefore I would rather keep my opinion to myself."

"You are the second most important person in this school, Severus." She said exasperatedly. "The War has ended, but if anything at all happens, you will replace me as headmaster. Your opinion matters to me, and as long as we remain united in our goals…"

"… It doesn't matter if we disagree on the less-than-major issues." He interrupted, a note of finality in his voice. "You have told me this before, Headmistress, and yet I do not think it is a matter we can take light-headedly."

"Oh, come on, Snape!" She said rather louder than she meant, and continued more placidly. "You of all people should know they are harmless. It's the same old superstition that exists against werewolves…"

Snape's lip curled at the world "werewolves". He continued, however, in a humorless voice:

"I am not talking of _that_ now, Headmistress. I won't say a thing anymore against you allowing _them_ to reside here, as long as they don't actually prowl the grounds or the castle at daytime…"

"Which you know perfectly well they won't," snapped the Headmistress.

"I should hope so. And I thought you would have guessed it's your other decision I was referring to."

He said that in quite a polite tone, but Minerva McGonagall's face immediately put on a rather irritable expression.

"Not _again_, Severus!" She exclaimed. "You came here only a few days ago, before the end of summer holidays, and yet we must have discussed this at least a dozen times! I would have thought that, owing to the fact that you got the position you wanted, you wouldn't mind so much seeing the Potions vacancy filled by another person – after all, you can hardly be expected to hold two jobs!"

Snape tried to put on his mildest expression, which did hardly anything to soften his sour features, his thin lips and hooked nose. He was lean, reasonably well-built, but that couldn't really be noticed underneath his black, billowing robes. McGonagall was also in her usual tartan, her hair pulled back in a neat, graying bun. Not much has change in the appearance of these two heroes of the Second War, the War during which Lord Voldemort had finally been defeated.

"I don't _mind_ the filling of that vacancy." He made an impatient gesture. "You make it sound, Minerva, as if I wanted to keep the Potions Master position while I start teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts at the same time. I just thought that, being Deputy Headmaster," he said the last two words rather smugly, "I have the right to worry about where this school is heading, what will happen to our standards, our reputation, our achievements – once we start appointing…"

"Wait a minute, Severus," said Professor McGonagall briskly, watching him intently over the top of her square spectacles. "I think I know what this is about."

"You do?" Snape looked mildly interested.

"Yes, I think I do." Repeated McGonagall. "You… you underestimate Beauxbatons Academy!"

"I beg your pardon?" Snape said coldly.

"Severus, it is no secret you think those who graduate from Beauxbatons Academy of Magic don't have quite the same grasp of the Magical Arts. And while I agree with you that they put a bit too much emphasis on impractical subjects like Divination, I must say I'm quite satisfied with…"

"It has nothing to do with that, Headmistress," he interrupted her again. "It has everything to do, however, with the age and experience of the candidate you have chosen. I thought the policy of this school was not to accept candidates below twenty-five years of age anymore, unless there is specific evidence that they have enough skills and experience to cope with teaching. Do you know this Miss Costello, Minerva? Or does, perhaps, anyone from the staff?"

"No," admitted Minerva McGonagall. "But I interviewed her, and she made a good impression on me. Seemed like quite an expert, as a matter of fact. She has excellent recommendations, too. Madame Maxime, Headmistress of Beauxbatons, praised her. Her parents own the shop "Costello Concoctions" in Diagon Alley, so she was practically born in a cauldron. As I have told you before, she worked in St. Mungo's until last month, and they spoke most highly of her as well, sent me a letter telling that her knowledge in antidotes surpasses that of many older and more experienced wizards and witches. And you mustn't forget, Severus, that Celena Costello is related to, and was taught by Nicholas Flamel, the only known maker of the Philosopher's Stone. I know we decided about an age restriction, but to tell you the truth, I'm wondering if we haven't made a rushed decision in the first place. After all, personal qualities matter much more than a few years more or less. Maybe we should consider canceling it altogether?"

"She is related to someone else we know well, too," added Snape, ignoring her last point, his eyes narrowing maliciously, a trace of a grin on his sulky face. "Are you perhaps prejudiced in her favor, Minerva, because you are fond of her dear uncle, Remus Lupin?"

"I think most highly of Remus Lupin." McGonagall cut across him rather sternly. "As I think of all my fellow members of the Order, and first of all you, Severus. But in appointing Celena Costello as the Master of Potions in Hogwarts, I followed only the unbiased opinion of those who taught her or worked by her side, and my own impression."

For a mere second, they glared at each other – Professor McGonagall, very straight in her dress robes, her hair in a tight bun, her expression frosty; and Snape, Severus Snape, looking like an overgrown bat in his loose black robes, his rather greasy hair still raven-black, with no tinge of grey, hanging loosely at the sides of his pale face, an evil twinkle still in his eyes. Then he shrugged, as if he still thought he knows better, but decided not to argue.

"How is she arriving, anyway?" He asked. "The Hogwarts Express?"

McGonagall shook her head.

"She's arriving right here, in my office, by Floo Powder. Her things have already been sent. She should be here any mo-"

She never finished the sentence, because at that very moment, the fire in the grate blazed emerald green, and a tall, slim, hooded figure of a young woman appeared. She stepped out unto the carpet, brushing soot off her brown traveling cloak.

"Ah, there's Celena!" Said Professor McGonagall. "Right on time!"

The woman threw back the hood of her cloak, revealing a pretty, porcelain-white face and dazzling, bright-blue eyes with long, curled, thick eyelashes. Her chestnut hair was tied back carelessly, into a knot at the back of her head, rather unlike Professor McGonagall's, about to untwist, with several stray locks of hair coming out of it already.

"I came as soon as I could, Headmistress," she said, bowing her head slightly. "I'm delighted to be here. What a handsome office!" She exclaimed, looking around.

The circular room, its walls covered with many portraits of former Headmasters and Headmistresses of Hogwarts, was indeed magnificent. Full of various artifacts, with the fire burning low in the elaborately carved and scrupulously clean fireplace, the polished desk neat and gleaming and a fabulous sunset outside the wide windows – Celena took all that in, looking around. Her eyebrows lifted slightly as she registered Godric Gryffindor's sword and an old, patched hat, but she didn't say another word. Professor McGonagall gave her a small, reassuring smile.

"Surely Madame Maxime's office at the Beauxbatons Academy is quite as impressive," she said. Celena smiled back shyly. She did look very young.

"Oh, Madame Maxime's office is of course quite _large_," she nodded. "But not as elegant as this one."

"Celena, allow me to introduce you to Professor Severus Snape. Professor Snape is Deputy Headmaster and Head of Slytherin house. He used to teach Potions for many years, so if you need any guidance, assistance or advice when you start teaching, don't hesitate to seek the help of Professor Snape."

Celena thought Snape didn't look like the reassuring type of person a novice might turn to for help and advice, but she made a brave decision to ignore that for the time being.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Professor Snape." She smiled, revealing very white, rather sharp little teeth. "I am most honored to join the ranks of Hogwarts staff."

She held out her small, gloved hand, but Snape's hands were joined behind his back, and he didn't bother to pull them apart to shake hers. He merely inclined his head, so that his face was half-obscured, shot a rather nasty glance and said:

"Professor Costello."

He then eyed her from head to foot, taking in the gracious smile now fading rapidly from her lips, her outstretched hand in an elegant glove, her shiny boots and her brand-new handbag. One corner of his mouth twitched. Celena flushed. There was a moment of awkward silence, and then he said,

"Got to be off, Headmistress. I must remind you that the Sorting is about to start."

He turned towards the door and was gone in a swish of black robes.

"So," said Professor McGonagall briskly. "Let me show you your office, Celena. Never mind what Severus said, you still have time to drink a cup of tea and change into your dress robes."


	2. The sorting

A/N: I'm working on putting all the dialogue in brackets, as well as making some other minor changes.

Celena followed Professor McGonagall down a couple of corridors and into a plain room with a desk and a chair, bare walls and dirty windows. The fireplace was cold, extinguished and full of soot, and the room was crammed with trunks, plentiful of boxes and a cage containing a sulky-looking cat with fierce orange eyes, furry and black, except for a white elegant patch on his chest.

"Oh, Lenvik!" exclaimed the young witch. "He has been locked up for such a long time! May I?.."

"By all means." Minerva McGonagall flicked her wand casually, and a fire was set ablaze in the grate. The office suddenly acquired a much more welcoming look. "I know it's not something," she said, gesturing towards the dusty desk and the dingy windows. "But the house elves will clean it up while we're down at the Great Hall, and your bedroom is ready, it's right here at the back of the office and I think you'll find it quite comfortable. Now tell me, Celena, how is Remus?"

"Uncle Remus is just fine," said Celena. "Works hard, and Dora has her hands full with little Teddy. But you probably know that already, you're both in the Ord-"

"Shh!" McGonagall pressed a finger to her lips and gave Celena a disgruntled look. "I didn't know Remus told you we are still operating!"

"He did," Celena said timidly. "But I don't quite understand why –"

"This is not the time to discuss it," said McGonagall. "I will have to have a word with Remus… now, a few more questions before I leave you to start getting ready for the Feast. You have, of course, carefully studied our basic curriculum through the books of Arsenius Jigger and Libatius Borage?"

"Oh, I spent half the summer reading them and planning the program accordingly!" Celena said happily. "And I think I have a few ideas of my own, just to make classes more interesting, an occasional treat, you know."

"That's settled, then." said Professor McGonagall, looking pleased. "Now, about your older students, what is your standard for the N.E.W.T class?"

"An "Acceptable" O.W.L," said Celena. "I think that should do."

Professor McGonagall raised her eyebrows.

"Acceptable?" Are you sure that will be enough? I must remind you that Professor Snape didn't accept students into his N.E.W.T class without anything other than an "Outstanding" O.W.L. Now, I admit I used to think he's a bit harsh, but I thought you'd at least demand an "Exceeds Expectations" mark…" her voice trailed off in a tone of polite incredulity.

"Uncle Remus told me about Professor Snape's standards. But you see – I thought everyone who passes should be allowed a try. They can drop the subject later, or even fail the examination, but at least it won't be like they weren't given a chance in the first place."

She looked straight at Professor McGonagall, who seemed strangely, quietly pleased with this answer. That was encouraging, especially after Professor Snape's welcome, which made her feel she was pushed headfirst into a bucket of cold water. Uncle Remus told her to expect no better, though.

"Now, time to get ready." said the Headmistress. "The Welcoming Feast is an excellent opportunity for you to meet all the staff members; you know some of them already, of course, for instance I remember you from Bill Weasley's wedding."

"Ah, now," Celena smiled, "Fleur Delacour is a very good friend of mine, we went to Beauxbatons together. And we still keep in touch; she and Bill have got such a beautiful little place…"

"I had no idea. Then again, I don't know Fleur very well. I will wait for you while you change, Celena, and then we can go down to the Feast together."

The Great Hall was magnificently decorated for the start-of-term feast, with its usual hundreds of candles floating in mid-air, the four House tables and the high staff table covered with white linen and hundreds of gleaming gold plates, forks, knives and goblets. The walls were draped in banisters carrying the symbols of all four Hogwarts houses – the gold and red Gryffindor lion, yellow and black Hufflepuff badger, blue and bronze Ravenclaw eagle, and finally, the green and silver serpent of Slytherin.

The first years were crossing the lake, as it was a tradition before Sorting could take place, but the older students were already sitting at the four long tables, the translucent House ghosts floating graciously above and between them. An object which looked a bit out of place in the midst of all this splendor was a plain wooden three-legged stool, which stood in the middle of the Hall. The old, patched hat from Professor McGonagall's office was resting upon it.

The Headmistress' throne was obviously empty, as she was approaching together with Celena, and there were two more vacant seats at the staff table, side by side – one is mine, of course, Celena realized – and who else is missing? There was a murmur of excitement as Professor McGonagall entered, Celena at her heels.

Professor McGonagall looked quite the same as ever at that type of feasts, in her tartan dress robes and her hair in a tight bun. Celena, however, now only was unfamiliar to the students, but now looked quite different from the pretty but simple woman she was an hour ago, when she emerged from Professor McGonagall's fireplace.

She wore a set of dress robes of fine indigo velvet, which clung tightly to her slender waist but left her neck open, strikingly white against the dark velvet, a magnificent dove-egg sized sapphire on a fine golden chain resting upon it. Matching sapphire earrings, a family heirloom, adorned her ears, and her glittering, sharp heels carried her forward with a grace unexpected of the schoolgirl she resembled not long ago. She took off her gloves, so that her white arms were shown in all their beauty against her dark robes. Her hair was let out of its plain knot and now gleamed in sleek chestnut waves that fell almost to her knees.

She walked between the tables, smiling slightly, across the Hall. On to the staff table she went, and stared at the two vacant chairs. She was sure the one next to Professor McGonagall was meant for someone more important, so instead she sat two seats apart, between the empty chair and a tiny wizard whose feet didn't quite reach the floor, and who gave her a friendly, encouraging nod. Snape was sitting on Professor McGonagall's other side, wearing his usual black robes and a sour expression.

The moment they took their seats, the doors of the Great Hall burst open, and a group of terrified-looking first-years shuffled in, followed by a figure of a man who was about three times as tall as any of them, with a tangle of hair and beard that looked positively alarming to a stranger. Celena, however, beamed and waved.

"Hi, Hagrid!" she called, beside herself with excitement that the empty chair by her side will soon be occupied by the big, friendly man she has come to know and like through Uncle Remus. He waved an enormous grubby hand in return and grinned. They have met several times before, when Hagrid visited her uncle, and grew quite fond of each other.

Professor Flitwick, the tiny wizard on Celena's right, wasn't a complete stranger either – she remembered him from Bill and Fleur's wedding. It was encouraging to be surrounded by familiar faces, she thought. She didn't have much time to ponder this, though, because all of a sudden, a brim at the side of the old hat opened like a mouth and it burst into song – Celena gave a small jump and squeak in her chair, but it looked as though everyone else were expecting it to happen. There was scattered applause around the Hall, and then everyone went silent, to hear better the words of the Sorting Hat.

_When Hogwarts freshly founded stood,_

_When teaching only started,_

_Four friends were joined by brotherhood,_

_Thought never to be parted._

_Great Gryffindor, he taught those who_

_Were brave, with hearts of fire,_

_Wise Ravenclaw, she took those who_

_For knowledge had desire;_

_Good Hufflepuff, she taught all those_

_Who said it was their wishin' – _

_And Slytherin, he seeked pure blood_

_And merciless ambition._

_You know it all, they fell apart, _

_Without a further mention;_

_And never since been wizardkind_

_Free of this burning question:_

_Which House do I belong to? Well,_

_If only that – I'll tell you,_

_But it's with greatest pain I do_

_Divide you and expel you_

_From all the rest of Houses, for_

_The danger's not yet parted – _

_We should be vigilant and more_

_Befriended and united!_

The Hall was silent for a moment after the Hat had finished its song, and then everyone broke into applause. Celena clapped more enthusiastically than anybody, perhaps because it was the first Sorting she witnessed. She heard of the Sorting Hat from her uncle, of course, but she never imagined it actually reciting self-made poems.

"Not at all up to its usual standard, not at all!" squeaked the little Professor Flitwick on her side. "Short, and some vague warnings again!"

In the meantime, Hagrid was rising to occupy the last free chair at the staff table, and everyone's attention was fixed upon the first-years, who looked, if possible, even more frightened. The Headmistress addressed them loudly and clearly, but it still seemed as though at least some of them weren't taking in a word of what she was saying:

"The task you need to perform in order to find out which of the four Houses you belong to is really quite simple. All you need to do is sit down on the stool and try the Hat on when your name is called out. The Hat will then tell which house you are to go in, and you will join the appropriate table."

She pulled out a roll of parchment from the inside of her robes, straightened her spectacles and read out the first name:

"Allenby, Allan!"

A thin, blond boy wrenched himself out of the crowd and walked shakily towards the stool. He took the Sorting Hat in his hands, sat down and placed it on top of his head. The Hat easily fell over his ears, covering half his small face. There was a moment of silence, and then the Hat shouted, "Hufflepuff!"

There was loud cheering and applause at the Hufflepuff table when Alan, blushing and light-headed with relief of having it gone so smoothly, went to join them.

"Atkins, Elizabeth!"

A pretty girl with a long plait approached the stool much more confidently. The Hat didn't pause this time; the moment it touched her head, it roared, "Gryffindor!"; there was an uproar at the Gryffindor table as Elizabeth went to sit with them.

Professor McGonagall continued reading. "Buckery, Eve"; "Dragonfly, Simon"; "Lloyd, Linda"; "Manson, Henry"; "O'Railey, Rose". Some students tried to approach the stool casually. Others didn't attempt to conceal their apprehensiveness. "Tanner, Daniel" dropped the Hat twice before finally managing to put it on his head and being sorted into Ravenclaw (Professor Flitwick clapped loudly), and "Zorinsky, Natalie" tripped over the stool before becoming a Slytherin.

She was the last, however. Professor McGonagall then stood up, and all was quiet again.

"I welcome our students and staff members to another year of magical education at Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry," she began, and silence fell around the Hall, punctured only occasionally by excited whispers. "There are some things to be said and announcements to be made, but according to the tradition set by Professor Dumbledore, it can all wait until after we have enjoyed this splendid feast."

There was a wave of murmurs at the mention of Dumbledore's name, but it soon was extinguished as the plates and jugs filled themselves with everything an excited and hungry person might wish for.

"Excellent, I'm starving," said Celena, drowning her roast potatoes in gravy and adding salad to her plate. Hagrid nodded approvingly, tapping a dozen chicken legs onto his plate and tearing a huge chunk off one of them with his teeth.

"Have some shepherd's pie, Miss Costello – I mean, Professor Costello," said Professor Flitwick, smiling.

Over the clunking of knives and forks, talking was very comfortable. Celena was introduced to several of the other teachers, most of whom seemed very nice, especially Pomona Sprout, the cheery little witch who taught Herbology, and Professor Vector, the Arithmancy teacher.

Sybill Trelawney, the Divination teacher, seemed to have taken a particular liking to Celena, and was talking to her in a soft, mystical voice:

"My Inner Eye sees pangs of love inflicted upon your pretty features, dear, by a handsome but treacherous man," she said confidently.

"Quite the contrary," Celena tried to refrain from laughing. "I got engaged recently, and next summer you might just be invited to my wedding."

Professor Trelawney looked rather taken aback, but fortunately, a diversion came in form of Hagrid who chocked on a huge bit of chicken. Celena and Professor McGonagall started clapping him on the back, which seemed to make little effect. Finally, after two painful minutes in which his face had gone beet red, Hagrid sat straight again, clutching his throat and wiping tears out of his eyes.

"Bin out in the grounds all day," he croaked. "Las'-minute preparations, see… tha's why I'm so hungry now – need more ale fer washin' it all down – why don't you pass me that flagon, Celena, that's a good lass."

"Here, have some bread with that, Hagrid," Celena said kindly and reached for a plate of rolls to pass him.

Finally, everybody felt full to burst, and the clinking of silverware was getting duller. All the food had vanished from the plates, leaving them empty, gleaming and clean for a second, to be filled the next moments with pies, tarts, puddings, éclairs and ice-cream of every flavor one could possibly imagine.

Celena helped herself eagerly to about ten different flavors of ice-cream at once. She then looked into her plate, as if contemplating it, biting her lip in concentration – and all of a sudden, the gigantic portion of ice-cream was covered with a mound of whipped cream with a cherry on top. Then she grabbed a spoon and started eating; Hagrid looked amused, not noticing there were flecks of white whipped cream above his bushy eyebrows. He was tucking into a delicious-looking treacle tart; Professor Flitwick was delicately eating a chocolate éclair; Professor McGonagall managed a third helping of strawberry pie, and only Snape hadn't eaten any pudding at all.

"Hagrid, is there anything at all _wrong_ with this man?" Celena whispered, gesturing discreetly towards Professor Snape and trying to sound casual.

"Nah," Hagrid replied cheerfully, "He always looks as though he was jus' made ter eat dung."

When everyone ate as much pudding as they could, the plates and goblets emptied and Professor McGonagall stood up. The chattering and laughter died out in an instant, and every face was turned towards her, apprehensive. It was obvious that she was a woman of great inner power, used to be listened to when she talks, very confident. She might not have glory of the former Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, but beyond a doubt, she was respected by the students and staff members, and at the moment, had everybody's full attention.

"Now that we all ate and drank, I would like to open this term with a couple of words. The war is over, and I am happy to tell you that parents aren't afraid anymore to send their children to Hogwarts, where young witches and wizards receive the finest magical education."

There was scattered applause, but McGonagall raised a hand and it stopped immediately.

"I must remind you, however, that these are the first steps of shaky peace after a long and exhausting war, the outcome of which was unclear until its very end. We must remember many of the supporters of He Who Must Not Be Named haven't been caught – or, as I am sorry to admit, even discovered. It is our duty, therefore, to maintain – like Alastor Moody used to say – constant vigilance. They cannot bring Him Who Must Not Be Named back, but they may still plot, and scheme, and seek revenge. We ought to hold on to each other, and take care of each other, more than ever. We owe it to the memory of Professor Dumbledore, and many other fine, noble people who should have been enjoying the end of war with us."

Once more, a murmur ran around the Hall and people whispered and nodded.

"I must therefore remind our new and old students that the Forbidden Forest is out of bounds, and no student is to leave the grounds to visit Hogsmeade without the permission of a parent or guardian. Students below third year aren't allowed into Hogsmeade at all."

A few students looked crestfallen. A second-year girl whispered in her neighbor: "I hoped she might forget to say that!"

"I must also remind you that no magic is allowed in corridors between classes. Dark objects are of course banned, as are more products of Zonko's, including Fanged Frisbees, Exploding Yo-yos and three-hundred and twenty six other objects, the detailed list of which can be found on the door inside of Mr. Filch's office, where you can browse it at your leisure."

There were a few giggles no one really bothered to hide. Not paying attention to that, Professor McGonagall continued:

"This year, the ranks of our teachers underwent some changes. First, our Deputy Headmaster and Master of Potions until last year, Professor Snape, will not be teaching Potions anymore, but takes instead the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

Snape looked very pleased with himself. He waved to the cheering Slytherins and straightened the front of his robes.

"The Potions Master position will instead be occupied by Professor Celena Costello, who will, I am sure, draw a splendid performance."

The clapping and cheering grew louder, and it didn't issue only from the Slytherin table this time; encouraged, Celena beamed and waved at the students.

"And the final, and most important notice: since I have now taken the chair of Headmistress of Hogwarts, it is impossible for me to continue being Head of Gryffindor house at the same time. It is with greatest pain, therefore, that I renounce being Head of House –"

Professor McGonagall's words were drowned in indignant exclamations from the Gryffindor table; most of the students were white with shock, some still sitting down and mouthing speechlessly, positively outraged, some of them on their feet, shouting something heatedly.

"The Head of Gryffindor house," continued Professor McGonagall very loudly, over all the tumult. "Will be no other than our Care of Magical Creatures teacher, Rubeus Hagrid, who accepted this difficult and challenging task in addition to his teacher and gamekeeper duties."

For a second, there was ringing silence. The Gryffindors simply stood or sat, whatever position Professor McGonagall's words caught them in, looking at each other, comprehension slowly dawning upon their faces. And then, the red and gold table erupted in such an uproar of applause that the windows rattled. Hagrid, absolutely beside himself with delight, waved at the students, fat tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes and disappearing in his tangled beard.

"Well done, Hagrid!" beamed Celena.

Hagrid's new job was, of course, settled in advance between him and Professor McGonagall, and even Celena knew about it from Uncle Remus. But hearing the words spoken out loud in front of all the students created such an overwhelming load of happiness Hagrid could hardly handle it.

"Can' believe it," he croaked, wiping his tears on his sleeve and knocking Professor Flitwick out of his chair with an accidental shove of an enormous elbow. Professor Flitwick toppled out of view, reappearing from under the table a second later, looking cheerful nevertheless.

"Congratulations, Hagrid!" He squeaked.

In the meantime, Professor McGonagall continued talking:

"Quidditch trials will be held at the second week of term, so those of you who are interested should apply promptly. Classes begin tomorrow morning, at half past eight. And now, I believe it is high time we all went to bed. Off you go!"

Deafening screeching and scraping of benches followed as hundreds of well-fed, excited and tired students hurried off to their dormitories. The teachers followed in a dignified, slow walk.

"Lemme take you to yer office, Celena," said Hagrid. "I believe 'tis on the seventh floor, and you don't know the castle too well."

Celena accepted the offer gratefully. Hogwarts seemed much bigger than the Beauxbatons castle, and not so well-planned, as if some parts of it were added later than others – which, she reminded herself, they probably were.

And so she let Hagrid lead her, upstairs, through many corridors and shortcuts, past many pictures, statues and suits of armor, looking around and trying to memorize the way.

They couldn't be far now, Celena thought, panting, as she ascended landing after landing. Apparition was impossible inside the castle and grounds – a reasonable safety measure that has proved itself more than once – but it didn't make the task of getting from the ground floor to the seventh floor any easier.

And then, all of a sudden, the strangest thing happened – Celena and Hagrid both collapsed in a heap on the floor. For a second, Celena thought they must have missed one of those trick stairs that could be encountered so often on the many stairways of Hogwarts. But then she realized the carpet was simply snatched from under their feet – by a round little man hovering in mid-air, wearing a ludicrous orange bow-tie.

"Peeves!" roared Hagrid in indignation, getting up to his feet after what seemed like a small earthquake. "You wait; I'm going ter call Filch and he'll have you this time, fer playin' tricks on two teachers."

The expression that spread across Peeves' malevolent face was, if anything, of delight.

"Tut, tut, is that a teacher? I thought it was a wee student, lost and alone…"

"The Bloody Baron is around the corner, you wretched poltergeist!"

Celena was yet to meet the Bloody Baron, Slytherin's ghost, silent, gaunt and frightening, covered in stains of silver blood. He always stood apart from the other ghosts and was, indeed, the only one who could frighten Peeves, the havoc-loving poltergeist. Now, however, Peeves did not seem impressed; he merely made a very rude hand-gesture and departed, cackling.

"I wonder why," mused Celena, looking bewildered and trying to straighten her hair, "a poltergeist is allowed here?"

Hagrid shrugged. Fortunately, Celena's office and quarters were right behind the corner, and when they reached it, they bid each other good night and Hagrid departed.

When she entered her office, Celena first gasped, then "oohed", then grinned. It was no longer the dingy, grey room she left only two hours ago. The desk gleamed with cleanliness; all of her possessions were unpacked, the books stood neatly upon the many shelves, together with moving photographs of her parents, Uncle Remus, Dora and her little cousin Teddy. Lenvik was sitting on a cushion in an armchair behind the desk, purring loudly. The doors to the tiny bedroom and bathroom were left open, and Celena could see her robes, folded neatly on top of the spotless bedcovers. The windows were draped in silky, flowery curtains, and the bathroom gave off a fresh scent.

Fire was blazing merrily in the grate, and a furry little carpet lay in front of it. Celena gave a great sigh of contentment and sank onto it, wanting to snatch a few peaceful moments by the fire before going to sleep – or rather, she _attempted_ to sit; while she did so, she realized someone was already sitting there, curled up in front of the fire and snoring loudly. Celena gave a stifled cry of surprised, but then saw it was merely a house-elf. Just as she registered it, the elf woke with a start.

"Oh, Miss!" It cried in a squeaky, high-pitched voice, rubbing its enormous, tennis-ball-sized green eyes. "You must be Professor Celena Costello, Miss! Dobby is cleaning your office for you, Miss, while you is downstairs at the feast, but Dobby is alone, because a the other house-elves are in the kitchens, Miss, and there was a lot of work to do, and Dobby is tired, so he falls asleep in front of the fire without noticing , Miss! Dobby mustn't have let this happen, Miss, and begs you to forgive him!"

"That's quite alright," said Celena, rather taken aback by this speech, and eyed the elf, astonished. His appearance was nothing short of bizarre – he wore a maroon jumper on top of checked shorts, at least half a dozen woolly hats on top of his bat-like ears, and odd socks – one was bright red, the other covered in white and orange striped. But the mismatched garments weren't what startled her.

"You're wearing clothes!" She exclaimed. "Real clothes!"

Celena's parents, of course, never owned an elf – there was no need to, in the small, crammed apartment above "Costello Concoctions", but she knew elves never wore actual garments of clothing – rather, they draped themselves in towels or pillowcases; presenting a house-elf with clothes would mean breaking the magical bond between the elf and the family, and setting it free.

"Dobby is a free elf, Miss!" The elf squeaked proudly, rolling out a hairy chest. "He gets paid for his work in Hogwarts, Miss, and gets days off, and chooses who to obey! Dobby was employed by Professor Dumbledore –"

And as he said it, his enormous eyes filled with tears and his lower lip trembled.

It now registered in Celena's mind that this story was, in fact, oddly familiar, as if someone told is to her a long time ago. She only thought of it vaguely, though, anxiously looking around for something she could offer to comfort the elf. Being unable to think of anything, she bent and patted the elf on the back.

"Thank you for the excellent work, Dobby," she said kindly. "The place is unrecognizable. I knew Professor Dumbledore a little. He was a great man. Would you like, perhaps, to sit down and rest a bit?"

"Oh, you is very kind, Miss Costello!" Said Dobby, his lamp-like eyes now positively brimming with tears. "But Dobby would much rather go to his bed in the room near the kitchens, Miss, and have some sleep, and Dobby was too busy to have any dinner yet, Miss!"

"Alright then, Dobby, off you go to the kitchens, and don't forget to grab a bite to eat!"

"You are fair and good, Miss Costello!" the elf spoke, making her turn crimson. "If Miss ever needs anything, she can just call Dobby, and Dobby will come and do whatever he can!"

And with a loud "crack", he disappeared.

When Celena finally took off her clothes and went to bed, she found a box of mints under her pillow, and a stack of neatly folded handkerchiefs, each one bearing a Hogwarts crest – a lion, an eagle, a badger and a snake forming the letter "H".


	3. First lessons

When she woke up and got dressed next morning, feeling nicely refreshed after a long, undisturbed sleep in a comfortable bed, Celena found a piece of parchment waiting for her on top of her shiny desk. It was neatly rolled up and sealed; when she opened it, she saw it contains her teaching timetable. She spent much time preparing for the program of each year, of course, but still she was happy to discover she had the first-years, Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, on her first lesson of that morning. She felt nervous and excited just like those boys and girls who tried on the Sorting Hat last night.

The way down to the Great Hall for breakfast took a long time, and she found it by pure luck: running into a crowd of Gryffindor students and following them.

It was quite early, but nearly all the staff members were already at the table. Professor McGonagall was sipping her tea in a dignified manner; Hagrid was eating his way through a pile of fried eggs and sausages; Professor Flitwick was spreading marmalade on his toast; Professor Sprout was tucking into a bowl of porridge with butter and honey; Snape, apparently, had already eaten and was fiddling with his napkin, looking as unpleasant as the night before. Thankfully, the seat between Hagrid and Professor Sprout was empty, and Celena edged towards it, timidly greeting everyone. She sat down and started ladling porridge into her bowl, when breakfast was interrupted by the arrival of morning owls. They soared through the windows, looking for their owners or recipients, then diving to deliver letters and packages.

A screech owl landed on top of Professor McGonagall's empty plate, "The Daily Prophet" clammed tightly in its beak, and held out a scaly leg with a leather pouch attached to it. Professor McGonagall rummaged in her robes for a few seconds, then extracted a bronze Knut and deposited it in the owl's pouch. It clicked its beak impatiently, dropped the newspaper and took off at once.

Celena didn't expect any post, because yesterday, before going to bed, she sent an owl to her parents and Timothy to tell them she arrived as planned. She knew Timothy would be too busy in the morning to write any letters. However, she received a note from her uncle, Remus Lupin. While her attention was drawn to the note, the brown owl that delivered it flew off with the remainder of her toast in its beak.

Remus' letter was short:

_"Dear Celena,_

_I hope you arrived in Hogwarts yesterday as was planned, to a good start of term and a warm welcome. _

_I am in London right now, but I'm not staying with Romina and Umberto, so don't write home if you want to find me. _

_Dora and little Teddy send their love. Write when you can, and tell me about your first week as a teacher._

_Uncle Remus"_

Celena raised her eyebrows. What might her uncle be doing in London, and why isn't he staying with her parents in "Costello Concoctions" like he has always done? However intrigued by the mystery of this letter, she snorted. "Warm welcome" – it seemed as though her uncle somehow knew there was at least one teacher at the staff table who looked ready to jinx her from the moment she arrived. Then again, Uncle Remus spent a year teaching in Hogwarts himself, she remembered.

When she finished breakfast, she was glad she still had some time to swing by her office and pick up the books and name list she needed for her first class. She knew the ingredients for potion-making were already in the store cupboard in the dungeons where she was to teach. She asked Hagrid for elaborate instructions on how to get there, and hoped she would not have to run into Peeves the poltergeist again on the way.

… She knew there was no mistake – Hagrid's explanations were accurate, and indeed she was going deeper and deeper down. Yet the corridor leading to the dungeons gave her such a strong sense of foreboding that she felt somehow she wasn't supposed to be there.

The pathway was wide, and the uneven ancient stones of the floor echoed loudly with every step she took. The walls were grey and grimy, the orange, flickering light of torches dancing on them, penetrating the darkness and casting huge, misshapen shadows.

The vast dungeon room in which Potions classes were to be held wasn't looking any more welcoming – the same bare grey walls, the same flickering torches poorly illuminating it. In addition, it was very cold.

An old, dusty store cupboard and about a dozen desks were the only furniture. Celena drew her robes tighter around her shoulders, placed her books and notes on the teacher's desk, sat down and waited for her students to come in.

They arrived a couple of minutes later, some of them casting worried looks around the gloomy classroom. In groups of four, students huddled around the desks (Celena noticed the Ravenclaws tried to sit right in front of the classroom, while Hufflepuffs occupied the back seats), but nobody sat down yet.

Celena rose to greet them and smiled, trying to look more confident than she really felt. Their very first lesson – and mine, too, she thought.

"Good morning, class." she said. "I am Professor Costello, and starting from today, I will be teaching you the subtle art of potion-making."

There was a general murmur of "good morning, Professor Costello" around the class, and she continued.

"The art of Potions differs from other magical disciplines by the amount of attention and concentration that must be present during the entire time of your work. One wrong ingredient, one stir in the wrong direction – and the product which took hours or days to prepare, and days or weeks to mature, might be lost. However, even though all of you cannot be equally, naturally talented, potion-making can be learned – to the necessary extent – by just about anyone, with some patience and preservation."

And since there were many whispers and looks of incredulity on the faces of boys and girls, she added:

"Despite anything you might have heard. Now, I hope you all have standard-sized cauldrons, scales, the basic set of ingredients and the two books that will be guiding us through this year: "One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi" by Arsenius Jigger, and "Potion-making for Beginners" by Libatius Borage. The book of Arsenius Jigger will tell us all we need to know about various potion ingredients used even in the most complicated potions, while Libatius Borage will explain more on the techniques of potion-making and its safety rules. Any questions so far?"

She thought there probably wouldn't be any, but to her surprise, a blonde, curly-haired girl sitting at the front desk raised her hand. Celena remembered vaguely she had been sorted into Ravenclaw the night before.

"Yes, Miss..?"

"White, Professor. Kimberly White. Please, Professor, is it true that you are related to Nicholas Flamel?"

Well, she should have seen it coming, really, Celena thought, frowning slightly. There was such a murmur of curiosity around the class, though, that she decided not to leave Kimberly's question unanswered.

"As a matter of fact, Miss White, I am. Nicholas Flamel was one of my ancestors, and the very first Potions teacher I had, long before I began my formal magical education."

The murmurs and whispering stopped, and the class broke into gasps and "ooh"s.

"Today," continued Celena, "to give you a taste of what potion-making feels like, we will prepare the very first potion, the very basic one, that I was taught to make by Great-Uncle Flamel when I was five. It's quick and easy, and I'm sure it would have been very useful to many of you last night, when you stood at the Great Hall, about to be sorted. I am referring, of course, to the Calming Draught."

There was appreciative laughter around the class and the atmosphere eased considerably.

"For instructions," said Celena, "you will open page twenty-four in "Potion-Making for Beginners". The ingredients that aren't included in your basic kits can be found in the store cupboard. You will start now."

There was an immediate rustle of pages and setting of fires beneath cauldrons.

It is the first time they are doing this; Celena reminded herself when she saw daisy roots, unclean and roughly cut, thrown into a cauldron, or when someone kept extinguishing their fire by stirring fervently and spilling half of their potion. The ideal half-stage for Calming Draught was supposed to look like orange juice, but instead of the clear orange shade, the liquid bubbling in most cauldrons was yellow or reddish brown – that is, if the student managed not to smash his or her cauldron or set their robes on fire.

When it was five minutes to the end of the double period, Celena told everyone to stop working and walked around the class, examining everybody's potions, which were supposed to turn by now to a clear, greenish liquid smelling slightly like pines.

The results, of course, weren't very impressive. Not many people achieved anything that resembled the desired potion even slightly. Some had bubbling bogey-like goo in their cauldrons, others' potions smelled like rotten eggs or smoked so much the entire desk was obscured and students backed away from it, coughing; some pupils, however, seemed naturally gifted.

"Oh, very good, Miss White!" Celena said enthusiastically, ladling some of Kimberly's perfect, fresh-smelling, clear potion and letting it spill back into her cauldron, so that everyone could see. "Ten points to Ravenclaw. And – oh, this one is just as nice! Good work," she kindly said to a small, timid-looking boy at the very back of the class. "Your name is..?"

"Brian O'Connor, from Hufflepuff, Professor."

"Ten points to Hufflepuff too, then, excellent! Now," she continued, emptying all the cauldrons with one wave of her wand and leaving them sparkling clean again. "It's your first day, so you will not receive marks for today's work – that was just to give you a taste of what potion-making really feels like! You will, however, be rated for your very first piece of homework, which you will hand in next time we meet, on Thursday morning. I want a twelve-inch-long essay on the safety measures during potion-making and what can happen if you don't follow them. A simple, accurate summary of Chapter One from Libatius Borage will do. You may leave now."

There was scraping of chairs and a great deal of noise as the students threw their things pell-mell into their bags and hurried off from the gloomy dungeon to a morning break in the sunlit grounds.

Well, all in all, it wasn't as bas as it could have been - Celena thought. Some of the students, however, seemed prejudiced against the entire subject of Potions, perhaps because of what they were told by older siblings or parents – and although Celena didn't want to do too much guesswork, she thought she had a shrewd idea that could be because of a certain Potions Master with an unusually high rate of students failing his exams year after year.

The look of the classroom, she had to admit, wasn't exactly welcoming either. Maybe students could get used to the bare walls and the gloomy smoking torches, but in Beauxbatons she learned that pleasant, comfortable surroundings were not the least important factor on the way to academic achievement.

And then, all of a sudden, she had an idea. She cleared her throat and called tentatively –

"Dobby?"

And at that very second, with a loud "pop", the house-elf appeared, wearing the same lurid clothes from the night before and positively beaming.

"Miss Costello called?" He asked in his high-pitched voice.

"Yes, Dobby," said Celena. "Tell me, something – has it ever occurred to you that this place looks a bit gloomy?"

Dobby looked around, at the bare stone walls, the grimy windows, the flickering, dull light of torches; "a bit gloomy" was something of an understatement.

"I would say so, yes, Miss Costello!" Dobby nodded enthusiastically, his long ears flapping. "We house-elves clean here… sometimes," he cast a quick look upon the stained desks and the dusty stone floor. "But it is – it was – Professor Snape's classroom, Miss Costello, and we don't like to have too much to do with Professor Snape, Miss Costello, we don't!"

"Well, times have changed," said Celena. "It will be my classroom from this day on, Dobby, and I wish it could look more welcoming, so that the students would not feel it's torture to spend time here, especially the younger ones. Do you think there is something you can do for me, Dobby? You did such wonderful work in my office yesterday."

Dobby gave a great "whoop" and jumped, nearly touching his backside with his little heels.

"Dobby will call some house-elves, Miss Costello, and we'll do everything to make this dungeon a nicer place, we will! We will clean properly and bring spare carpets and other things! All we need is a couple of hours, Miss!"

"Can you do it now, Dobby?" Celena asked, "I don't have any classes until after lunch."


	4. The Beauty Balm

She used the free period she had before lunch to prepare for her next class. Those were going to be older students, students who already had five years of magical education behind them, completed their O. and were about to begin their N.E.W.T classes. She wanted to throw in an impressive first lesson, advanced yet fun, colorful and sophisticated but not difficult enough to be discouraging – and then, she felt as though a light was turned on inside her mind, and she set to working.

She went down to lunch a couple of hours later in a very good mood and settled in a seat next to Hagrid, just like the night before.

"Havin' a good firs' day o' term, Celena?" Hagrid asked her through a mouthful of mashed potatoes.

"I think I like it here," she said happily, helping herself to potatoes and salad too.

"I've always wondered why yer parents decided ter send yeh to Beauxbatons instead o' Hogwarts," he observed, and picked a bone from a chicken's leg.

"Well," Celena tilted her head to the side slightly, her fork in mid-air. "Mom always thought there's nothing quite like the traditional French education, you see. And it really was good – excellent teachers, beautiful castle, fancy food. I made friendships with the most interesting people; I learned to speak fluent French. And you must know there's nothing like spending some time in a foreign country and setting bonds with people of a different culture to expand your horizons…"

"Yeah…" Hagrid nodded, his expression suddenly dreamy.

Celena suppressed a grin, but continued her musings:

"I got Fleur as my best friend, that's priceless. She's really the best anyone could ever have. We were always together; the two most popular girls in our year, and when the Triwizard Tournament was held, we both applied and came here in the Beauxbatons delegation… I suppose you don't remember me from that time?"

"Yeh looked familiar when I met yeh at Remus's some time later," said Hagrid, shrugging. "But not really, no."

"Well, that's hardly anything to be surprised about, is it, given the fact that we didn't even get to spend much time inside the castle. I mean, we spent about eight months here back then and now I barely recognize the place! It was our final year, and we had to study for our final examinations mostly by ourselves, with very little help from Madame Maxime. We took the exams about a month later than everyone else, though."

"Did ye get disappointed when yeh weren' chosen for the Tournament?"

"Well," she paused, frowning slightly "I suppose we all were a bit disappointed – but you see, we had a pact made with Fleur; we agreed that if the Goblet chooses one of us, me or her, the other will not be jealous, but would stay here and be supportive. So I did my best. And you know, Hagrid, thinking of the disaster that Tournament turned into, I'm glad I wasn't chosen for it. I'm not sure I would have handled it half as well as Fleur."

"Yeah," said Hagrid. "Those were dark times. We're so lucky ter have it all behind us."

"You definitely think it's all over, then?" Celena asked hesitantly, lowering her voice a little. "Because, you know, Uncle Remus acts kind of odd lately, and I know he's in the Ord-"

"Yeah, well, yeh can't expect all evil ter be erased from this world just like tha'," Hagrid cast an anxious look around him, lowering his voice as well, but the other teachers were all too busy with their plates, and the scraping of knives and forks was too loud for anyone to hear anything. "There's still plenty o' slime out there. I think the main source of it is gone, though, an' the rest, well, the rest we can deal with."

… There was still a little time before the start of afternoon classes, so Celena walked in the direction of the dungeons in a quiet, dignified sort of way – as befits a Hogwarts teacher, she thought, pleased with herself. Just then, however, she heard quick footsteps behind her, and someone calling out for her:

"Professor Costello! Professor Costello! Can I have a word with you?"

She turned around and saw a boy of sixteen or seventeen standing in front of her, quite skinny but otherwise good-looking, with light-brown hair, clear grey eyes and a rather pale complexion. Right now, however, he was red and shiny in the face from running, his hair was ruffled and his bag was thrown hastily over his shoulder.

"Dennis Creevey, from Gryffindor, Professor," he said, panting.

"How can I help you, then, Mr. Creevey?" She asked, and added. "Do try to make it quick, though. I don't want to be late for my next class."

"It's just that, your next class, Professor!" he said hastily. "You see, I – I took my O.W.L exams last year, and I got "Acceptable" on Potions, and I knew Snape – Professor Snape, I mean – doesn't accept anyone into his N.E.W.T class with anything but an "Outstanding", so I didn't even bother signing up for Potions this year. But this morning, Professor McGonagall told us you accept those who finished with an "Acceptable", and I, er, I really want to continue taking Potions, but I – I didn't buy any books or ingredients or anything, and I was wondering if I still can – if it's all right –"

He blurted it all out in about ten seconds, and it took Celena another ten seconds to register what he was trying to say.

"Oh, it's quite alright, Mr. Creevey," she smiled at him encouragingly. "I thought there might be some confusion with the new arrangement. Come with me, the class begins now. I will add you to the name list and I can lend you some supplies until you can make your order. And please, by all means, if you know of anyone else in a similar situation, tell them that they are welcome in my class even if they didn't sign up on time."

But the news already spread around the school on their own, and when Celena opened the dungeon's heavy door, she faced what she knew to be the biggest N.E.W.T Potions class in many years.

During the break, Celena wondered whether it would be wiser to just abandon the gloomy dungeon and find a big enough classroom on one of the upper floors, but she was pleasantly surprised. She saw Dobby and his fellow house-elves did a wonderful job. The desks were sparkling clean, the floors spotless. The sinister torches were replaced by shiny bronze chandeliers, and the stone walls were now draped with colorful tapestries and pictures. The old, rigid chairs were gone and replaced by stools, a flowery cushion attached to the seat of each one. A soft, squashy armchair stood in front of the teacher's desk. The old store-cupboard was hastily repainted white, and a smell of fresh paint and cleanliness hung in the air, instead of the musty, cold, unpleasant smells that usually lingered here. Celena grinned from ear to ear and made a mental note to send Dobby a pair of socks as a present.

The students – especially the Gryffindors, who tried to find seats closer to the teacher's desk – looked pleased. They kept glancing around and whispering excitedly, clearly in awe of the enormous difference made to their old Potions classroom. The Slytherins, on the other hand, sat closer to the back of the class and showed little emotion.

Celena approached the teacher's desk, but didn't sit down. She looked into the students' faces. She was not that much older than they were, and could remember clearly her own very first N.E.W.T class. She felt just as excited now. And many of the students, it was easy to notice, felt lucky to be there at all.

"Welcome," she said, "to your N.E.W.T Potions class. My name is Professor Costello, and I will guide you through this most challenging and exciting part of Potion-making studies."

Silence fell. Everybody, even the Slytherins, looked eager.

"The books that will be our guideline through the next two years are "Advanced Potion-Making" by Libatius Borage, the first part of which we are supposed to cover this year, and the book that has accompanied you from your very first Potions class – "One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi". In addition, sometime later this year I will give you authorization to read "Moste Potente Potions", which can only be found in the Restricted Section in the library, and will assist us in getting to know some less conventional potions and poisons.

As for the subjects we are going to cover this year, they include recognizing various poisons and brewing antidotes, learning to distinguish several illegal potions in their various disguises, several Healing potions and a few other subjects I will reserve for our last term. Today, however, I have something special planned for you. Any questions so far?"

And, expecting it this time, she saw a pretty girl with long, shiny black hair raise her hand.

"Melissa Hanson, Professor. I know it doesn't really have anything to do with the subject, but is it true that you are a descendant of the man who made the only known Philosopher's st-"

"Yes, Miss Hanson." Celena said exasperatedly. "I am indeed one of the descendants of Nicholas Flamel. However - sorry if this disappoints you – Nicholas didn't pass the secret of the Philosopher's Stone to anyone, and we certainly won't be making it here."

A few students grinned. Others started loudly whispering into their neighbors' ears.

"And now, I have one more comment to make before we proceed."

The class, that has been buzzing excitedly, fell silent once more.

"As you already know, when I took the position of Potions Master in this school, I decided anyone who passed their O.W.L examination, even with only an "Acceptable", should be given the chance to continue to N.E.W.T level. However, due to the concern expressed by the Headmistress about the capability of weaker students to cope with the amount of new knowledge they are supposed to acquire, those who got an "Acceptable" O.W.L will be given extra homework each time we meet, until I am quite sure they are at the same level as the rest of the class."

At the sound of this, some students looked crestfallen. Others muttered to each other fervently. After a second's pause, Celena continued:

"Today, we will be making a potion which isn't, strictly speaking, included in your study program, but which is both advanced and interesting, and that's why I thought it would be a good project for our first meeting. I am speaking of the Beauty Balm."

Several people gasped; some gave a soft "wow", and a few girls giggled. Dennis Creevey, who sat at the very front and middle, gaped at her with his mouth open.

"But those are really valuable!" said Melissa Hanson. "They are quite expensive if ordered through "Witch Weekly".

"They are, Miss Hanson," Celena nodded. "If made correctly. Now, most of the ingredients needed for making of the Beauty Balm will not be found in your basic kits, so take them from the store cupboard and use them sparingly, especially unicorn hair and Dragonweed. The instructions," she waved her wand, "are on the blackboard. Tricky, but an hour should suffice. Fire away."

There was an immediate rush of action – people were setting fire beneath their cauldrons, cutting valerian roots, measuring exact amounts of clear water and Elf-tree juice and rushing to the store cupboard. Celena was getting ready to walk around the class, examine people's work and make sure the unicorn hair is indeed being used sparingly, when the dungeon's door opened and a man walked in – the very last man Celena wished to see in the middle of her very first N.E.W.T class, the greasy-haired, clad in black robes and wearing and unpleasant smirk, Professor Snape.

"Well, well, well," he raised his eyebrows, looking around. "What an impressive decoration change here! Did you do it all by yourself, Professor Costello, or did you have to blackmail the house-elves? They never even cleaned here properly, as far as I can remember there were cobwebs in that corner for the last five years or so…"

"Good afternoon, Professor Snape," she said in her most dignified voice, while several Slytherins sniggered. "Is there any special reason..?"

"Oh, certainly," he said dryly, indicating the box he was holding in his arms. "I brought you an extra supply of Wormgrass. The Headmistress thought you'd need some more, because your class, you see," he looked around, then paused, then continued, "is rather _larger_ than usual…"

"Thank you," Celena said stiffly, taking the box from him and placing it on her desk. "Now, if you will excuse me, Professor Snape, I think I should…"

And then she stopped, because the cold expression on Snape's face was replaced by a rather unplanned, blood-chilling twist of his thin lips that was the least welcome smile Celena ever saw.

"Creevey?" he whispered, looking at the boy, who now stopped chopping his Dragonweed and glared back. "You have _Creevey_ in your class, Professor Costello?"

"That's quite right, Professor Snape," said Celena in a ringing voice, feeling an uncomfortable flush in her face, but raising herself to her full height nevertheless. "As you very well know, anyone who didn't fail their O.W.L is welcome in my class."

"Oh, I am well aware of the fact you decided to teach those I would never let in _my_ class," he cut across her in a low voice that sounded as though it was dripping with venom. "But Creevey…" he hissed towards the boy, "you always _loathed_ Potions… you got a detention last year for telling me insolently to my face you find my subject useless and will not carry on with it even for a prize of a thousand Galleons…"

Dennis stood up now, his back stiff, his face scarlet and his fists clenched, while his potion bubbled and steamed, forgotten, emitting puffs of grey vapor because of the uncontrolled fire beneath the cauldron. A corner of Snape's mouth twitched.

"But of course," he said in a dangerous, silky voice, and cast Celena a very nasty glance. "_I_ could never be quite so… _charming"._

There was no point pretending not to hear; the students were all listening to the low, malevolent voice. Dennis was a shade of magenta now, mute with indignation, and Celena was fighting back the urge to draw her wand. The Slytherins looked as though Christmas had come early.

"The Beauty Balm," sneered Snape, growing more and more confident every moment, with the obvious support of his pet students, as he looked at the instructions on the blackboard. "Wise choice, Professor Costello… some of us certainly could do with a few drops," he looked pointedly at Melissa Hanson, whose face was rather freckly, then turned around and walked out of the classroom without saying another word.

Melissa looked on the verge of tears.

"Some of us," said Melissa's friend, Samantha Gardner, in a very good, hissing imitation of Professor Snape, "could do with washing their hair, and keeping their overlarge nose out of a classroom that is no longer theirs!"

Melissa gave her a weak, grateful grin and continued working on her potion, her hands now shaking slightly.

At the desk next to the girls', a handsome boy was shooting incredulous looks towards Dennis, stirring his potion carefully at the same time.

"What is it?" said Dennis out of the corner of his mouth.

"It's just, well – mate, don't get mad at me or anything, but Snape was right in a way… I mean, it's true that you always hated Potions, and not like the rest of us; only because of Snape… it really was your least favorite class. So how come..?"

Dennis turned an even more brilliant shade of magenta and continued working without saying a word.

Celena, in the meantime, walked along the rows, fuming, but didn't say anything until time was up.

"Well, stop working now, and let me see what you have done… ooh, I see most of you did fairly well, although I see that some of your solutions are too watery…"

"_Mine_ isn't too watery," said an annoyed, plump Slytherin girl, prodding the congealed mass inside her cauldron that looked more like beeswax than anything else.

"The Beauty Balm, ideally, should be of a light yellow shade, thick and oily," Celena ladled some of the solution Denis's friend made. "What is your name, young man?"

"Martin Nordholm, from Gryffindor," he replied.

"Good job, then, Mr. Nordholm… oh, and I see Miss Hanson did very well too. I wouldn't dare to use yours, though, Mr. Creevey, it's a bit too dark and I think it might be because you added too much knotgrass."

"Are we going to try it right now, then?" Melissa asked enthusiastically, apparently not upset at all anymore.

"Oh, yes, that's the most exciting part of today's lesson," said Celena. "You see, the special thing about the Beauty Balm is that it doesn't change your entire appearance at will, but instead acts upon the feature you would like to change most. For example, if one's ears are overlarge, and one is bothered by it and maybe even teased because of it, they would be the feature that changes with the application of Beauty Balm. And if one finds oneself perfect, the Beauty Balm will not take effect, even if this impression isn't entirely true… now, you may try your Balm, Miss Hanson, and you, Mr. Nordholm, and you, Miss..?"

"Brinkley," said a surly, watery-eyed Slytherin girl.

"Go ahead, now, rub a fair amount of Beauty Balm behind your ears, don't worry, even if the effect is not quite what you desire, it will wear off in a couple of hours…"

"Ooh, Professor!" Melissa Hanson exclaimed excitedly, gazing at her reflection in a small mirror she pulled out of her bag. "Look!"

All her freckles were gone, and she looked even prettier than before. Martin Nordholm's face didn't change at all, but he grew a few inches taller right in front of everyone's eyes, so that his robes now revealed a stretch of brown wool socks; a few girls gaped in astonishment. The Slytherin girl, Brinkley, now had enormous emerald green eyes with long eyelashes instead of her small watery ones, and was looking very pleased as she saw her reflection in the corner of Melissa's mirror.

"Well done!" Celena said approvingly. "You may keep your Balm, everybody who managed to do it correctly, that'll leave you with a small stock you can use once in a while… be careful not to exaggerate, though, or the effect might become different if you use it too often, and I'm sure you don't want half a face freckled, Miss Hanson…"

"Would you like to try some of my Beauty Balm, Professor?" offered Melissa, and everybody looked at her curiously, because Celena was indeed so pretty that it was difficult to imagine what about her would change under the effect of Beauty Balm.

"Oh, I suppose this can't hurt, can it, Miss Hanson?" Celena said light-headedly, scooped some of the thick, yellowish oil from Melissa's cauldron and rubbed it in behind her ears.

She felt a strange, prickling sensation at the sides of her head. She knew it was just not right when she saw the astonished faces of her students.

"It's – it's not so bad, really, Professor…" said Melissa in a very small voice and handed her mirror to Celena.

There were now leaves and wildflowers growing out of her head in a very neat line, like some bizarre wreath. It didn't look ugly, indeed, but it was quite a shock nevertheless.

"This Beauty Balm works wonders, doesn't it!" whispered Amanda Brinkley to her fellow Slytherins. "I mean, who wouldn't want to look like a flowering shrub?"

The Slytherin girls giggled unpleasantly.

"Yes, well," said Celena, deep in thought, examining herself in the small mirror. "I should have foreseen something like this might happen, yes… side effects… not to worry, though, Miss Hanson, I see your Balm worked just fine on you, so you keep it. Well, that's it for today. Extra homework for those who need it is on the blackboard, and for the rest of you – a roll of parchment about the properties of unicorn hair and its uses in Potion-making, to be handed in next time."

Relieved, the students picked up their things, washed their hands and went off to their common rooms, while Celena started walking in the direction of the hospital wing.


	5. Tea with Hagrid

Madam Pomfrey managed to get rid of Celena's flowery appearance fairly quickly. The rest of the first week of term wasn't quite that exciting. The students were much more respectful, she thought, than they could be expected to be to such a young and inexperienced teacher. Celena's relation to Nicholas Flamel, the only known maker of the Philosopher's Stone, played a part in that of course. Many of the students were familiar with "Costello Concoctions", the older ones might have even seen her behind the counter a few summers ago. Her classes were interesting – she tried to leave most of the theoretical part for homework (which, she admitted, placed a rather large load on her students), and during her lessons she gave occasional fun treats that weren't included in the study program.

On her third day as a Hogwarts teacher, she gave a detention for the very first time, an act she hoped to put off longer; there was no choice, though. A third-year Hufflepuff boy thought it would be fun to make his classmate's cauldron explode, and believed his involvement would go unnoticed if he pointed his wand from under his desk and muttered the incantation quietly. It was lucky that the Shrinking Solution they were making wasn't ready yet, because the bubbling liquid spluttered the walls, floor, ceiling and most of the students and their possessions. No real damage was done, but the guilty Hufflepuff student was made to scrub the mess off all by himself, without using magic, which took most of the evening and left Argus Filch, the caretaker, absolutely delighted.

She had no post all week, since Remus Lupin's and her parents' short notes, but on Friday afternoon two owls arrived, tapping their beaks impatiently on the window of her office, and holding a large parcel between them. The parcel contained a large quantity of homemade pies and a few jars of her mother's excellent fudge. There was also a letter from her parents, written by her father, telling nothing but that everything was as usual at home, and asking her about all the details they could possibly think of.

For a long minute, she gazed out of her window, vaguely hoping to see another owl, a handsome tawny named Wilbert that belonged to her fiancé, Timothy. But there was no sign of Wilbert on the clear horizon. _Why_ hasn't he written? She knew Timothy was very busy at the moment with the perspectives of his new job at the regulation and control of cauldron-making industry, and that was why she resolved not to pester him with owls every day. She expected him to send her a word that day, though, inquiring how her first week in Hogwarts had gone, and possibly attempting to arrange the next time they meet, for exciting discussions of wedding preparations – the guests, the dress, the cake, the musicians and the party.

She and Timothy met when she was fresh out of Beauxbatons Academy. With only vague plans as to what she should do next, she was spending time with her parents, helping them at "Costello Concoctions". Brewing potions was natural and easy for her, so she hummed merrily on one rainy day, when the shop was empty, without the promise of too many customers. She prepared for long, undisturbed hours of counting supplies, balancing books, and replenishing stocks, when the doorbell suddenly rang and a tall, handsome young wizard entered, his traveling cloak dripping water all over the floor. He threw back the hood of his cloak and gave her a charming smile that made her feel as though her knees were made of marshmallow, soft and about to bend any moment. She was determined not to let him notice, though. She steadied herself against the counter and tried to sound businesslike and efficient as she said:

"How can I help you, young man?"

"I came to ask a few questions about the cauldrons you use here in your shop," he replied. He had a very rich, very male voice that made her feel as though her heart was beating in her throat. "But not before you tell me your name, my lady!"

… Timothy came every day of that week, making more and more notes about cauldrons on a clipboard he always carried with him. He charmed Celena and her parents, and when his pretexts for visiting ran out, he continued coming anyway. Celena, with her beauty – which wasn't obscured even in Beauxbatons by the constant presence of Fleur, a dazzling part-Veela, near her – was used to male attention, but no one courted her as persistently and artistically as Timothy had. He proposed to her several times, but she felt something was stopping her. I'm too young; she tried to explain, even though she had to privately admit to herself this wasn't the whole story, maybe not even the most significant part of it – what was it, then? Why did she decline the proposal of a man who took hold of her thoughts from the moment she saw him? She didn't have a clear answer. Only during the summer before she started her job in Hogwarts, she accepted Timothy's proposal and was now engaged to be married to him. The wedding was supposed to be held next summer. _Why didn't he write? _

Celena placed the letter from her parents on top of the stack of essays she was supposed to check and rate that weekend. She decided to leave both the essays and the letter for tomorrow morning, and now go and visit Hagrid. She could see the light in his cabin through her window.

A magnificent sunset colored the sky gold and scarlet while she walked across the grounds towards the crude, large cabin where Hagrid lived. It was a warm evening for the season, but she took her cloak just in case she would stay out for a long time and it would get chilly as night falls.

"C'min, c'min," said Hagrid after he peered through the half-open door to see who this was. He looked clearly pleased to see her, which she was rather relieved to see, as she got no invitation.

Everything in Hagrid's cabin seemed about twice the size it would be for a normal man. The quilt-covered bed could accommodate at least three people. A bucket-sized cup stood on the vast wooden desk, and Hagrid's enormous boots, wide and deep enough for a child to hide in, stood by the door. His boarhound, Fang, was looking strangely small here, even though he was almost equal to Celena in height when he stood on his hind legs in an attempt to lick her face.

Celena knew, of course, that Hagrid had giant blood – his mother was none other than the fearsome giantess Fridwulfa, who went into hiding many years ago. She didn't mind the chair she sat on was so high for her that her feet were actually dangling from it, unable to touch the ground – in fact, she felt almost the same way whenever she visited Madame Maxime's office in Beauxbatons…

"Oh!" she exclaimed, glancing at the huge, winged, sharp-beaked grey creature curled up on a rug in front of the fire and looking upon her with one of his fierce, orange eyes. Celena, getting a grip on herself and remembering what she was supposed to do, gave a small bow, more like a nod. The creature returned it and seemed satisfied.

"Uncle Remus told me you keep a Hippogriff here," Celena told. Hagrid beamed.

"Tha's Buckbeak," he said, "we've bin tergether fer years. 'Course, he stayed with Sirius Black fer a while… until…"

There was a moment when none of them could think of anything else to say. Celena never had the chance to meet Sirius Black, but she, of course, knew all about one of her uncle's best friends, unjustly accused of mass murder, imprisoned in Azkaban for many years, forced into hiding and eventually killed by one of Voldemort's most faithful supporters…

"My mother sent sweets, Hagrid, look," she said finally, showing him the parcel she got earlier. "Only it's boring to eat them alone. Why don't you make tea and we try some of these?"

"Lookin' good," Hagrid said eagerly and busied himself with the kettle. When Celena was given a mug of boiling tea she could drown herself in if she tried really hard, she took a strawberry-jam filled tart and bit into it. It was fresh-made and delicious. Hagrid swallowed his in one mighty bite and reached for another one.

"So, how was yer firs' week as a teacher?" He asked through a mouthful of tart. Celena thought of the cauldronful of half-brewed Shrinking Solution smeared all over the classroom, of her flowery appearance after the application of Beauty Balm, of Snape's snide remarks and of being interrogated non-stop about being a great-great-great granddaughter of Nicholas Flamel.

"It was as fine as I could expect, I guess," she finally said, smiling brightly. "What about you, Hagrid? Is it difficult, being Head of House?"

"Well, I always got along fine with them Gryffindors," said Hagrid thickly, for her just took another pie from the pile in front of him, "my old House, ye see. But it's one hell of a responsibility, ye have ter sort all sorts o' problems an' make decisions, an' if anyone gets in trouble with one of the teachers they get sent straight ter me an' I'm supposed ter decide what next… what with classes an' bein' gamekeeper, there's quite enough ter be goin' on with, as ye can imagine. But this is somethin' I've dreamed of fer years."

"Have you considered moving into the castle and finding someone else for the gamekeeping duties?" Celena asked.

"Nah, nobody's up ter the job," Hagrid waved an enormous hand in dismissal, "Charlie Weasley mighta done it, but he's too busy righ' now, with…"

He stopped abruptly, and the part of his face that wasn't covered by tangled black beard or hair reddened slightly. Celena pretended to not have noticed, although it confirmed something she had been thinking about all week, ever since she received that note from Uncle Remus. She continued talking as if she didn't hear anything interesting.

"We didn't have houses in Beauxbatons, you know," she said, "it spared a good deal of rivalry and competition that exists between the different Houses here, and instead we could dedicate ourselves to gaining knowledge and mastering our magical skills… not that it's not an interesting tradition, the Sorting and everything. But I think the pupils whose names are down to Ravenclaw for example are crafted more or less of the same material anyway, it's all about intelligence and determination…"

"I think ye'd be in Ravenclaw if ye went ter Hogwarts," observed Hagrid, drinking deeply from his mug of tea. "They're like yeh, all intelligent an' serious, trust their brains more'n anythin' else."

"I like the Ravenclaws." Celena agreed, nodding. "I've noticed it's them who try the hardest and take classes more seriously. I just don't understand what's the reason of pairing their classes with the Hufflepuffs, they don't get along really well… and Gryffindor and Slytherin students clearly dislike each other, and they're always paired up too."

"I think 'tis part o' the strategy o' bringin' the different Houses closer. Create bonds, more like… have them make friends with each other… pity it's not workin'."

Both of them pondered this while they ate and drank some more. And then, all of a sudden, Celena asked:

"Hagrid, why does Professor Snape dislike me so much?"

Hagrid choked on his tea, then chuckled.

"What's so funny?" Celena demanded.

"Hasn' bin nice ter anyone, s'long as I know him, now, has he? I remember Snape as a kid, lonely an' broodin', up his neck in the Dark Arts. Talented, no doubt 'bout that, but a nasty little piece o' work all the same."

"What's he got with me, though?" Celena frowned. "He ignored me most of the time and I'm fine with that, but sometimes he tries to make me look bad in front of my students. It's clear he was against my appointment in the first place. And he always favors the Slytherins."

"Not any fairer than nice," said Hagrid. "Yeah, I s'pose he thought yeh're too young ter teach. An' he sees yeh do things differently than he used to do – givin' everyone a chance and encouragin' everyone – an' people like it, an' it irritates him. I know he thinks tha's a bad move."

"Professor Snape underestimates me." Celena said. "I know more than he thinks about Potions."

"With a family like yours, how could yeh not? Don't mind Snape an' go on with yer business. Besides, he's bin in bad spirits fer another reason as well… they had a disagreement with Professor McGonagall."

There was a look in Hagrid's eyes that stated only too clearly he is dying to tell more, but is waiting to be persuaded.

"Please, go ahead, Hagrid." Celena encouraged him. "I won't tell anybody, I promise."

She didn't say anything else, but privately thought it might have something to do with what her uncle and another member of the Order, Fleur's brother-in-law Charlie Weasley, were up to in the past weeks. She was very eager to know. And Hagrid cracked.

"Oh, all righ'. I'll show yeh. Let's go."


	6. Forest dwellers

Hagrid strode towards his cabin's door, Fang following him. Buckbeak continued to snooze in front of the fire. Celena went after Hagrid and Fang, out of the cabin and towards the dark shadow of the Forbidden Forest.

"Are we going in there?" She asked with a hint of trepidation in her voice.

"Yeah," said Hagrid, "aren't afraid, are yeh?"

"Oh, not at all," said Celena, thinking privately it will be all right as long as they stay away from gremlins and acromantula that, as she heard, were lurking somewhere in the depths of the Forest.

They followed a winding path under the dark shadows of ancient trees, their wands alight. The path looked as though it was made recently by a large animal that fought its way through thick bushes.

"Is it far yet?" Celena asked, panting and drawing her cloak tighter around her shoulders. She liked forests, but this one seemed very eerie. She thought she could hear two pine trees behind them bending closer and whispering to each other, but thought it would be best not to mention it.

And then, there was a sound of hooves and a very strange being stepped into the clearing from between two trees. He had a lean, muscular torso of a man and a palomino body of a horse. There was a bow and quiverful of arrows attached to one of his shoulders.

"Hullo, Firenze," said Hagrid. The centaur inclined his magnificent golden head in welcome. Indeed, it was Firenze, who after the final battle with Voldemort was mercifully forgiven by his herd for "meddling in affairs of humans" and allowed to return to the Forest.

Celena looked at him in awe. She had never seen a centaur before, but of course she knew all about them. She approached and stretched out a hand. Firenze took it, and two pairs of equally dazzling blue eyes met.

"Tha's Celena Costello, Firenze," said Hagrid. "She's a teacher at the school, on'y just started."

Firenze continued looking intently at Celena, with his sparkling, penetrating gaze, as if he could see something no one else could. He seemed to find her just as interesting as she found him.

"The stars have spoken, Hagrid." He said finally, after a long pause. "Wizardkind will have to follow, yet again, a dark and twisting road, although the danger isn't quite like it was last time – not yet, at least."

"If there's one thing I wish," interrupted Hagrid, looking unimpressed, "an' I mean, on'y one thing – it's that the stars'd be more specific when they speak. He Who Must Not Be Named is gone –"

"Past and future, blended together," continued Firenze, paying little attention to Hagrid's words. "A great opportunity and a great peril. The humans might not have noticed it yet, but every single tree in this Forest speaks about it in the rustle of its leaves."

He looked directly at Celena when he said this, and she looked back and gave the tiniest of nods.

She was wondering if the whole point of going this deep into the Forest was to meet Firenze, who was of course fascinating, but provided no explanation to why Snape had a disagreement with Professor McGonagall. But then Hagrid cleared his throat and asked:

"Anyway, Firenze, we were going ter go a bit further in. I hope somebody's there?"

"They woke at dusk and went hunting," replied Firenze, "I think Ronan and Magorian went to show them our best spots. I believe I heard Goliath come back a little while ago, though."

After saying this phrase, of which Celena understood very little, he raised a hand in goodbye and disappeared once more into the trees.

Celena decided not to ask anything, and they went on along the winding path. After a few minutes, she thought she saw a flickering light, and then they stepped onto another clearing, much larger than the one where they met Firenze. There was a bright fire burning in the middle of it, and someone sat in front of it, devouring something raw and bloody Celena didn't wish to examine from a closer distance. She turned to Hagrid and opened her mouth only to find out speech has temporarily left her. She looked instead at the creature that now got up and approached to greet them.

It was clear he wasn't a man, although his face was almost human, with a broad jaw and a wide, low forehead. As tall and wide as Hagrid, wearing nothing but a loincloth held by a thick leather belt, he looked somewhat frightening. Celena saw now that what was wrapped around his shoulders was not a cloak, but his own enormous, bat-like wings. His long, neatly braided hair fell almost to his waist.

There was something definitely reptilian about him; his lavender skin was scaly, and Celena noticed with a jolt he had a mighty lizardish tail. At the same time, there was something feline about his hands and feet with sharp, tiger-like talons.

"Hello, Hagrid," he said in a deep, booming voice. "Good to meet you again. I see you brought a friend along?"

"Yeah," Hagrid said casually, as if they were talking over drinks at a cocktail party, and shook one of the enormous taloned hands. "I thought she's like ter meet yeh. Celena, tha's Goliath."

Celena was never prejudiced against different races, but Goliath, whatever he was, looked positively wild. She thought she was starting to understand what the conflict between Professors Snape and McGonagall was about. She resisted, however, the temptation to round on Hagrid and ask, "What is he?" – Instead, she turned to the lavender, scaly creature and asked:

"Who are you?"

"I am the leader of this clan," he said, "residing now in this forest with the kind permission of Professor McGonagall, the Headmistress of Hogwarts."

"Oh," she was unable to say anything else. Goliath looked, in fact, quite friendly if she ignored his menacing, powerful tail that swished from side to side, his sharp talons and his love for raw meat, but she could privately understand why Snape wasn't exactly eager to have an entire clan – she wondered how numerous – of huge lizard-like men prowling the school grounds.

She looked at him, trying to figure out where she might have seen something like him before, having a weird feeling it was something very basic and obvious she was failing to recognize.

"Goliath's a gargoyle, Celena," Hagrid finally said, peering at her face and seeing no comprehension.

"Oh!" Celena exclaimed, taking a step back and looking at the lavender giant's face. "Of course!"

She knew now. She must have head of these creatures, if not seen them, at least once. But where? And then, she remembered - Fleur and Bill's wedding, over a year ago, a freckly, good-natured face, hands covered with burns and scratches…

"You don't happen to know Charlie Weasley, do you?" She asked tentatively.

To her surprise, Goliath gave her what was undoubtedly a wide smile. She noticed with a shudder his mouth was full of long, sharp, pearly-white teeth that were now covered with blood from his interrupted meal. She felt her knees weaken but pulled herself together. Goliath seemed to have noticed it too, because she licked his teeth with a flexible, cat-like tongue.

"I met and befriended Charles Weasley years ago," He said, staring absent-mindedly at Fang, who was now devouring what remained of his dinner. "He gathered knowledge and researched different creatures that can be found in Wyvern Wood, where we resided until recently. I helped him. He is a good man, and it was him I turned to when I realized our clan needs a new place to stay in."

"What happened, then?" Celena asked. Hagrid looked like he was already familiar with the story.

"There were attacks." Goliath replied darkly. "One of our numbers was killed, and two were kidnapped. We never found them or the attacker."

"But who could?" Celena was puzzled. Who in their right mind would risk attacking the likes of Goliath, who not only were armed with steely talons, fangs and muscles, but who could also fly? And the scaly skin, she figured, would probably provide protection against most spells and jinxes. Well, a dragon could beat them, she supposed, but that wouldn't be so hard to figure out…

"Could have been the supporters of He Who Must Not Be Named," said Goliath, patting Fang, who was now sniffing hopefully at his heels. "They knew we were not on their side during the two Wars. We fought against them. They might have come to seek revenge. But that's just one suggestion – we never found out, because it happened during daytime."

"Yeh see, Celena, the special thing abou' gargoyles's that they freeze ter stone with the firs' ray o' sunshine an' stay that way 'til sunset," explained Hagrid, seeing the puzzled expression on her face.

"Oh!" Celena nodded in comprehension, "I understand, then – but it leaves you in a very vulnerable position, doesn't it?"

"Indeed," Goliath inclined his head in agreement. "Unless we have something or someone to protect us during daytime, we choose the darkest, deepest, most secret hiding places. What happened was a blow, but we didn't lose hope. We didn't want to leave Wyvern Wood, where our ancestors, hunters and warriors, led happy lives for centuries. We went into the very depths of the forest and lived there for a while longer. We were very careful. We spread around for our day hibernation, in twos and threes, so that the enemy, if he reached us again, wouldn't at least find all of us at once."

"But then something else happened, right?" Celena asked, her attention involuntarily captured by the story. "Because eventually you left Wyvern, right?"

"The enemy, whoever he was, found our rookery. One night, there were three eggs – the other night, they were gone."

Celena opened her mouth to ask, but then thought it makes sense, considering their reptilian appearance, that gargoyles lay eggs, like dragons or salamanders.

"So I knew it was not a time for pride," continued Goliath. "I contacted Charles Weasley. I flew to Wales to see him and he promised to help us. He mobilized a few of his friends, to protect us during daytime, while he was negotiating and making arrangements with the Headmistress of Hogwarts to allow us to live here. Minerva McGonagall met me and told me we may live here, if we treat the other creatures of this forest with kindness and respect. In return, we patrol the Forest, the school grounds, and Hogsmeade. We miss Wyvern Wood, but it's not bad here. The centaurs have been generous enough to share their hunting places with us. And hopefully, more eggs will soon appear in our new rookery…"

Goliath was interrupted by a group of his fellow gargoyles, who emerged into the clearing carrying deer, birds and even snakes – apparently, tonight's hunt was profitable.

Celena was relieved to see that Goliath was easily the largest of them. No one else was quite as tall and broad, although most of the gargoyles were taller and clearly stronger than humans. There were many of them, males and females, elders and hatchlings, with different colors of skin and hair. Celena also noticed that not all of them looked as human-like as Goliath. Many had beak-like faces or horns.

The clearing was now very crowded; the gargoyles spoke to each other (with strong Scottish accent), examining each other's prey and glancing curiously at Hagrid, Celena, Fang and Goliath. Three of the gargoyles approached them. Two of them were clearly siblings, a male and a female with delicately blue skin, ruby-red hair and of a fair, light complexion, much shorter and smaller than Goliath. The third was a young female who was built along the same lines as the first two, but actually resembled the gargoyle leader with her lavender skin and a long, wild mane of black hair. Celena noticed that despite the variety of sizes and colors, all the gargoyles had the same slanted, black eyes.

The blue, red-haired male looked the friendliest of the lot, and somehow the most civilized, although just like the rest, he wore only a loincloth on his hips (the females also wore something like a halter-top), and was carrying several large chunks of raw meat spiked on a sharp stick. He stretched out a hand and Hagrid shook it.

"Hello, Korian," he said.

"We are one clan," said Goliath, "but that is my closest family. Here's my wife, Demona," he gestured towards the female with blue skin and red hair, who was holding what looked like a sack of dead birds, "my daughter, Angela," the young female gave Celena a friendly nod, "and my wife's blood brother, Korian."

"Humans," hissed Demona, looking up at her husband and leader and ignoring the rest of them, the end of her long, flexible tail twitching. "Humans were the ones who forced us into hiding, yet you, Goliath, still seek the protection of humans and insist on inviting them here, into our midst…"

"You must remember Hagrid, my heart," said Goliath, all of a sudden not looking that big anymore.

"I remember _him_," said Demona, shooting a nasty glance at Hagrid. "But not _her_. Who is this human female?" She asked, glaring openly at Celena.

Celena was forcefully reminded of the welcome she received from Snape.

"That's Celena Costello, Demona," said Hagrid, looking rather taken aback. "She's a teacher up at the school…"

But he stopped, because he saw Demona was staring at Goliath, and he was glaring back.

"I thought it was discussed by all of us," said Goliath, towering over his wife, who drew herself to her full height but still looked tiny next to him, "and I thought we all agreed that humans and gargoyles, despite stupid old-age misunderstandings, are natural allies!"

"We didn't _all_ agree with that, oh no," said Demona, baring her teeth, he eyes flashing dangerously. Angela and Korian wisely retreated.

"And I thought," Goliath spoke louder, "that Professor McGonagall and her fellows, who offer us shelter, are our friends with whom we are linked by bonds of mutual protection, not intruders who –"

"Um, well, now yeh've met Celena an' all," said Hagrid, who was clearly starting to feel uncomfortable, "an' we'll drop by sometimes… so… bye for now, Goliath."

But the pair of gargoyles paid no attention to him. Goliath and Demona were deeply in what looked like one of many rows, hissing and spitting like a pair of angry cats. Demona actually looked more like a feline than a reptile. Her skin didn't resemble dragon hide so much, and her movements were graceful. She would be quite pretty for a gargoyle, Celena thought, if not that contorted, Snape-ish expression, and those sharp, bared teeth.

They left the clearing unnoticed and went back by the narrow, winding path, Fang at their heels.

"So, how'd' yeh find them?" Hagrid asked, looking rather pleased with himself now that they have left the scene of fight.

"Um, alright, I mean, Goliath is just fine, Korian and Angela seemed quite nice too…"

"Demona's a bit rough," he admitted, "yeh see, one o' the eggs that have bin stolen was theirs, Goliath told me, an' she took it pretty hard –"

"Understandable," Celena nodded.

"Yeah, an' she's mad at Goliath fer not makin' her his Second, an' she's prejudiced agains' humans jus' like some o' us wizards are against them gargoyles. Some make a link between them an' vampires, just because gargoyles hunt at night…"

As she wished Hagrid goodnight at the doors of his cabin and walked through the dark, cold grounds and upstairs to her office, Celena thought it was very unlikely she would ever visit the gargoyles on her own. True, Goliath seemed somewhat like Hagrid - big and mean-looking, but of a much kinder nature than you could think – Demona, however, was not someone you'd like to corner in the darkness.

It was very late already – the stroll took more time than she thought it would – but she didn't go to bed right away. Instead, she sat down at her desk, lost in thought. She left the window open before she left, but no sign of Wilbert's visit could be seen. He didn't come. There was still no word from Timothy. Disturbed, her head heavy, she finally went off to bed.


	7. Dennis's secret

The days went on, and surprisingly soon, the Hogwarts castle started seeming very much like home to Celena. She became quite friendly with most of the staff members, especially Hagrid, and Professors Flitwick, Sprout, and Trelawney. Professor McGonagall was nice too, in her own stern way; but as Headmistress she was a bit distant. The castle itself seemed more welcoming too – she stopped getting lost on her way to the dungeons or the staff room, and Peeves found it more difficult to surprise her now.

What's more, the students ceased interrogating her about being related to Nicholas Flamel, or about whether she had the faintest idea about how to make a Philosopher's Stone, and started appreciating her lessons on their own accord. They learned that the standards she used to evaluate their homework were pretty high, but still she was much more agreeable than Professor Snape, and the dungeons were so much nicer these days.

Snape, maybe because of his natural nastiness, or maybe from the dismay it caused him to hear that the subject of Potions grew much more popular than when it was taught by him, continued making his sly, acid-dripping comments whenever he could, hinting he still thinks Celena isn't skilled and experienced enough to teach – but in such a subtle way all she could do was fume silently. He did it most often in front of the compassionate audience of students from his own house, Slytherin. Indeed, the Slytherins didn't seem quite as fond of Professor Costello as the rest of the school, but didn't dare to show it openly.

Neither Uncle Remus nor the others made the slightest suggestion they were still doing work on the behalf of the Order, although Celena could swear she saw her uncle frown with hidden knowledge when she told him about the prophecy Firenze made to them in the Forbidden Forest. She decided to let it be for now. She also spent a few more times in the company of Firenze, who was the wisest and most gracious of all beings she knew. They had long discussions unlike any conversation she had before.

A couple of times she met the gargoyles again, accompanied by Hagrid, but didn't enjoy these visits as much as he did, even though Goliath, Angela and Korian were starting to grow on her.

She spent her weekends reading countless essays on the properties of moonstone and potion-preserving, visiting Hagrid in his cabin, strolling down the neat little streets of Hogsmeade with her fellow teachers. Several times she traveled home by Floo Powder.

She finally saw Timothy, even more than once, but never for long – he seemed busy. He hinted there was an important project he was involved in, an excellent opportunity. She understood. After all, she was absorbed in her work as well, and it was rewarding to know her students were doing well. To her great relief, most of her sixth-year N.E.W.T students were now more or less at the same level, and she promised the ones who have been doing extra homework that this measure will soon be stopped.

It was even more surprising, after she made this announcement – which caused an unmasked outburst of delight - in class, to receive a request for extra lessons from Dennis Creevey, who didn't have to do additional homework in the first place, and who seemed to be doing fine, except for an occasional fit of clumsiness from time to time.

She was in her office when it happened. It was the night before Halloween, and the house-elves have just finished decorating the castle for next day's feast. Hagrid grew some of the largest pumpkins Celena had ever seen, and dozens of splendid Jack-o-lanterns illuminated the Great Hall. A smaller one even stood on the desk in Celena's office, adding to the festive atmosphere. A Hogsmeade visit was to take place the next day, and Celena was happily anticipating it. She could go to Hogsmeade every weekend if she liked, of course, but it was somehow so much merrier with all the students around. She fancied a cup in The Three Broomsticks with the other teachers, and thought she'd look at some winter robes, because the mornings were becoming steadily frostier.

She was contemplating that when she heard a knock on her office's door. She threw a glance at the clock; it was getting late, about time for all the students to return to their common rooms, and she was surprised to see Dennis when she opened the door.

"Good evening, Professor Costello," he said timidly, "may I have a word?"

"Come in, Mr. Creevey. How can I help you? Would you like a cup of tea, perhaps? But be brief, unless you fancy being caught and given detention by Mr. Filch for breaking curfew. "

"Er, no, thank you, Professor," mumbled Dennis. "I'll make it quick… I need your help, Professor; I think I could do with some private lessons, if you have the time… perhaps once a week?" He said hopefully, and then added as an afterthought, "whenever you find it most convenient."

"Extra lessons?" Celena frowned. "Are you certain you need them, Mr. Creevey? Sure, I could make some time for you, but I find your work in class satisfactory, and the essays you hand in are nothing short of excellent. I'm very pleased with you."

"That's the thing, Professor," replied Dennis, blushing for some reason and looking not at Celena, but rather at the pumpkin on her desk. "I think I've learned the theory off by heart, but it doesn't help to really polish my practical work, and what's Potion-Making without a skilled hand?"

Celena sighed.

"In that case, Mr. Creevey, we have no reason to put it off. If you want to truly perfect your work, I am, of course, more than willing to help you… we shall start next week, Monday night, seven o'clock, the Potions classroom. It might be a bit cold down there, but I daresay it's roomier than my office. Now off you go, Mr. Creevey, it's getting rather late."

"Thanks, Professor!" Dennis said excitedly and hurried off to Gryffindor tower, careful to avoid Filch.

… "Extra lessons?" Martin Nordholm gaped at him in disbelief, "you are taking _extra lessons?"_

Dennis first blushed, then said defiantly:

"Yeah, I am. Celena agreed to start next Monday."

"_Celena?_" Martin sounded astonished. Then he said in a flat voice, "you _fancy_ her! I don't believe it – you actually fancy her!"

"Shut up!" Dennis hissed, looking around, but they were quite alone in the common room, except for two second-year girls who sat absorbed in a game of wizard chess.

"I should have known," Martin continued in a quieter voice, "from the very moment I saw you in the Potions class. You hated Potions, you always did. You would _never_ continue if Snape stayed –"

"Oh yes I would," argued Dennis, "I need it, a N.E.W.T in Potions is required in loads of places."

"So is a N.E.W.T in other subjects, but I never see you spend half the night working on your homework for those! I mean, you give her two rolls of parchment when she asks for twelve inches…"

"Oh, shut up," repeated Dennis exasperatedly.

"And you shouldn't forget we have the first Quidditch game in no time, and I'm sure you don't want to lose to Slytherin, and the new Beater we have, that Saunders guy, is doing lamely so far, and your cozy private lessons mean one practice less every week –"

He broke off, noticing that Dennis didn't take in a word of what he was saying.

"Listen," he said impatiently, and Dennis finally turned his head towards him, a dreamy, misty look in his eyes, "Professor Costello is cool and not half bad, but she's a _teacher_, do you get it? You don't think you could really –"

Dennis opened his mouth to speak, but Martin raised a hand.

"Don't bother," he said, "but whatever you do, _please_ don't call her Celena."


	8. Facing the unexpected

Timothy wrote and said he won't be able to make it to Hogsmeade on Halloween day. He wrote that he is very sorry he couldn't find the time to drop by, and assured her they would see each other soon, perhaps next weekend. Celena, disappointed, felt a bit annoyed for a fraction of a second – they have settled this weekend such a long time in advance, what work could possibly be so urgent? Then she realized she had better just go and have a good time with the other teachers. She folded Timothy's note and put on a long, thick cloak against the chilly wind outside.

So in a couple of hours, she found herself sitting in The Three Broomsticks, having a drink with Professors Sprout and Flitwick, and the Headmistress, Professor McGonagall. Hagrid decided to stay in the castle to finish putting together the decorations for the night's feast.

Professor Sprout ordered Madam Rosmerta's famous oak-matured mead; Professor Flitwick was smacking his lips as he sipped his sherry, and Professor McGonagall was enjoying a Gillywater. Celena wasn't in the mood for drinking anything too strong, so she asked for a large, steaming mug of hot Butterbeer. The bar was full of laughing, talking students and some of the other teachers. She noticed Professor Vector and Professor Sinistra talking to Madam Rosmerta at the bar. Professor Snape and Professor Trelawney, however, were nowhere to be seen.

"I must say you are doing very well, Celena," said Professor McGonagall. "The students all like your classes, and I've never seen the N.E.W.T class so packed! I always thought it's a shame so few students remained after the O.W.L. In previous years, we had students of all houses doing their N.E.W.T level together – it's the first time in many years we actually have enough students to keep dividing them in half!"

"Perhaps now they expect to hear instructions on how to make the Philosopher's Stone!" Professor Sprout winked.

"You know I don't have the faintest idea on how to do that, Pomona," Celena smiled. "Grandpa Nicholas never taught anyone."

At this point, their conversation was interrupted. Professor McGonagall, who was sitting with her face to the door, got up to greet a man who just stepped over the threshold, shaking the hood of his shabby traveling cloak off his face. He had a kind, rather tired face, and much more grey in his brown hair than would be expected for a man of his age.

"Uncle Remus!" Celena exclaimed, getting up to greet him. It was such a pleasant surprise to her, on a day that started in such a gloomy manner. Remus Lupin approached the table and was shaking hands with everyone. Celena noticed that Professor McGonagall, unlike Professors Sprout and Flitwick, didn't seem surprised to see him. He hugged Celena, drew a chair for himself and ordered some mead.

"Dora says hello," he said, drinking deeply. "How are things up at the castle, Minerva?"

"Good," she replied cautiously, "but you are still most welcome to stay for the feast, Remus."

"I will, thank you, Minerva," he nodded.

Stay for the feast, when Dora and little Teddy are waiting for him at home? Celena fought the urge to raise an eyebrow. She saw Professors Sprout and Flitwick found it strange too. But then, for the following half hour, she couldn't detect anything out of the ordinary in what her uncle said – they just talked about family matters, Celena's classes, Teddy's funny first words, the renovations at Celena's parents' shop, the latest publications in "The Daily Prophet", and no matter how hard Celena tried, she failed to notice a trace of anything unusual.

After they paid for their drinks, Celena and her uncle walked out of the pub alone. Celena thought it would be wiser not to interrogate Remus right away, so to weaken his resistance, she dragged him along to Gladrag's Wizardwear, and together the chose a nice new winter cloak for him, one she assured him Dora would approve of. Celena bought a new cloak for herself as well, with a matching hat, and only when she was contemplating a pair of gloves, she had to ask:

"Why are you here, Uncle?"

"Oh, never mind that. I have business in Hogwarts," he replied vaguely, trying to brush her off.

"Why are you hanging around in Hogsmeade, then?" Celena pressed on.

Lupin paused for a while, looking very uncomfortable, let out a sigh, and then said:

"Oh, alright. I need to speak with Goliath. Hagrid told me you've met him."

"Yes, I have," she nodded. It was obvious now why Lupin had to linger until it was dark, so that Goliath and the rest of his clan would wake from their daily hibernation in stone. "Do you have an idea who attacked them in Scotland?" She added in a whisper.

"I couldn't tell you more even if I knew something," he said flatly.

"Oh, I'm sure you have an idea," Celena continued badgering him. "Otherwise, why bother coming? I'd love to know what it has got to do with the Ord-"

"Shh!" hissed Lupin. "Not _here!_ It's packed with people! And besides," he continued in a very different voice, suddenly looking not at Celena, but contemplating the neatly packaged new cloak in his hands, "I decided to come early and stop in Hogsmeade because I knew you'd probably be here, and I wanted to talk to you about something else."

"Something else?" Celena repeated, puzzled. "Something you couldn't discuss in front of the other teachers? What is it?"

"You didn't have a look at _The Daily Prophet_, today, did you? " He asked. His expression was very strained as he handed her a copy of the most popular wizard newspaper.

Celena took it, not understanding. The front page was covered with notices of changes in the Ministry; congratulations to the new Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic; announcements of recent broomstick safety regulations; and a large commercial dedicated to Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions.

"I see nothing special."

"It's right at the back." Lupin said grimly.

Confused, Celena opened the very last page of the "Prophet". Normally she never got as far as that while reading her morning newspaper. It was the social column, reporting weddings, births, funerals and other important milestones in the more or less important and famous wizard families.

"So," she said, "Celestina Warbeck is getting divorced for the third time, that's nothing unexpect-"

And then she stopped breathing, as if all air had been knocked out of her. She read and re-read once, twice, ten times, refusing to believe her eyes, trying to blink away the hot, angry tears that suddenly blurred her vision, unable to swallow because of a painful constriction that obstructed her throat.

At the very bottom of the column was a small notice, just a few lines telling about the recent engagement of the promising young wizard Timothy Whitechapple and the gorgeous Alexa Douglas, daughter of the richest cauldron-maker of Northern Ireland. There was only a small, smudged picture of Alexa, but it was enough to show that she had curly, flaming red hair and smiled as though she wanted to leave no doubt that each one of her teeth is perfect. Celena furiously wiped her tears away, feeling sick to her stomach.

"Dora figured you probably don't read the social column," Lupin said darkly, avoiding her red and puffy eyes, "and she thought you should see it yourself, as soon as possible, before you hear someone whispering behind your back."

"I don't get it," Celena said quietly. "I just don't get it… I understand he might have wanted a marriage to better advance his career, but then - all that time, all that effort, begging me to consent to marry him… why? What's the point?"

"I'm sorry," Lupin said gently. Celena opened her mouth to say something else, but the words were simply lost on their way out. Forgetting all about the gloves, she stormed out of the shop, Remus at her heels, laden with packages.

Lupin stayed for the feast. Celena was sitting between her uncle and Hagrid, which was in itself some comfort, because none of them was interested in gossip, and she was still in a state of mixed disbelief, anger and confusion.

"I don't believe it," she said in a low whisper, "I mean, he did write less in the last weeks, and he didn't come to see me lately, but still, I didn't expect something like that. Behind my back! Without saying a word! You'd think I had tried to hunt him down, but no – he actually proposed three times before I accepted. Maybe he just likes being engaged!"

But a small, a very small and nasty voice inside her head told her she should have seen it coming. Timothy was a man who liked living an easy, smooth, rich life, and his new fiancée seemed just the woman who could provide that – tenfold the comfort and luxury his and Celena's jobs and her share in "Costello Concoctions" could ever bring. Now that she thought back on it, in the past weeks Timothy was clearly avoiding her, being cold and distant. How come she didn't notice it before?


	9. An eventful night

There were more courses than usual at the Halloween feast, but Celena hardly ate anything until the puddings appeared. Then she got a grip on herself and ate three large portions of chocolate tart. She didn't feel hungry, but there was something comforting in the warm, rich savor. Suddenly she wished she were home.

After the last morsels of food disappeared, the plates and goblets were left sparkling clean again, the candles were extinguished and the students headed for their common rooms, Celena followed Lupin and Hagrid to the oak front doors.

"Are yeh comin' with us, Celena?" Hagrid asked. Lupin opened his mouth, about to reproach him, then looked at Celena, still shaken and miserable, and his expression softened.

"Alright," he said briskly, "come along. Don't expect anything too exciting, though."

A part of her wanted to crawl under the warm blankets in her bedchamber; but she wasn't particularly sleepy yet, and felt revulsion when she thought about Timothy's note, still folded under her pillow. So she followed them through the chilly evening mist.

They walked down the familiar narrow, dark path in the Forbidden Forest, illuminated only by the thin beams of light issuing from the tips of their wands. It was a cold night, starless and cloudy, and there was a feeling in the air it could start raining any minute.

They reached the familiar clearing, expecting to see Goliath and perhaps a few others. But to Celena's surprise, there was a large commotion, more gargoyles than she has ever seen at once, crowded around the middle of the clearing, Goliath's massive, tall figure towering above them all, anxiety etched in every feature of his powerful, usually calm face. When Celena, Lupin and Hagrid approached, the gargoyles noticed them and parted, allowing them to see what the commotion was all about.

Celena recognized her at once. It was a female gargoyle with long, black, braided hair, lavender skin and a thin, feminine silhouette – Angela. She was sprawled on the ground, stiff as a board, her unseeing eyes wide-open and glassy. Demona was kneeling beside her, her face tear-stricken, pale and without its usual signs of malice. Lupin and Hagrid exchanged a worried glance as they, too, kneeled to examine Angela's unbending limbs.

"Hurry, friends," Goliath called out to them, "I was about to go and look for Hagrid. We don't know who or what did this to her, or how it happened. She was found on the outskirts of Hogsmeade."

"She is alive," said Lupin finally, peering into Angela's stony face. Demona shot one look at him, gasped for breath and buried her face in her hands, trembling with suppressed sobs, not noticing Goliath's heavy arm on her shoulders.

Lupin lightly tapped Angela's arm with his wand and said "Ennervate!"; everybody held their breath for a second, but nothing happened. Angela continued lying motionlessly on the ground.

"Either she hasn' bin petrified, or the spell doesn' work the same way on gargoyles," suggested Hagrid.

"It's very dangerous," said Lupin, looking very somber as he met Goliath's eyes, "we mustn't let her meet the dawn in this state. We can't know for sure what will happen if she does. No, Goliath, it's better not to move her again. I think there is one thing we could try, though. We have a superb, highly qualified Potion-maker here. I believe you can make Reviving Potion, Celena?"

The Reviving Potion, the complex, incredibly powerful solution that served her in so many times of unrecognizable maladies in the time when she worked at St. Mungo's! She remembered how to make it, of course, even now ingredients and measurements were quickly running through her brain, but –

"I can, but I don't have Liquid Moonlight!" Celena cried desperately, wringing her hands.

"Snape has Liquid Moonlight, I'm sure o' that," said Hagrid, "he kept lots o' rare ingredients to himself."

"Well, there's only one thing we can do, then," said Lupin. "Celena, you must go to the castle immediately and ask Professor Snape to give you what we need, or take it from him by force, it doesn't matter right now, there's no time to waste – Hagrid will go with you and I will stay here with this lot – "

Celena was about to open her mouth and tell her uncle what she thinks, even now, about he prospective of having to take anything from Snape _by force_, when she heard a clear, ringing voice:

"I'll go with you." A graceful, beautiful creature unlike anyone Celena had ever seen before, stepped out into the clearing; a tall centauress, with a palomino body and a milk-white torso of a woman, half-concealed by a roughspun tunic. She had blonde hair and startlingly, blindingly blue eyes.

"Already heard, haven' yeh?" Asked Hagrid, unsurprised.

"I'm Olrun," she said to Celena, "Firenze's sister. Come. I'll walk with you to the castle. One shouldn't walk alone on a night like this. Hagrid can stay – it'll be faster for just the two of us."

Celena accepted the offer gratefully, anxious to get to the castle as soon as possible, which wouldn't happen with Hagrid tearing through the brambles. She wondered whether Olrun would offer her to ride on her back, but she didn't. Perhaps the dignity of centaurs doesn't allow it even in situations like that. As they walked – or rather, Olrun walked gracefully and Celena trotted alongside her, until the clearing was blocked from view or voice – Olrun inclined her beautiful head to Celena and said:

"I think we should send and envoy up to the school before we get there, Celena Costello."

She was looking straight at Celena with that penetrating blue gaze of hers. Celena started back for a few seconds.

"Oh, right," she said softly.

And then, she did something very strange. She opened her mouth, but no words came out of it. It sounded like a rustle of leaves on a quiet summer night. And at that very moment, a creature jumped onto Celena's arm out of the nearest tree. It was a small creature who looked like a bit of tree himself, but also like a small, bearded man with twigs for legs and arms. By knowledgeable wizards, it would be recognized as a Bowtruckle.

Celena said something to him in that same peculiar rustle, and he jumped from her arm back to the branches of the nearest tree, then propelled himself over to the next one, and the one after next, swiftly advancing towards the castle.

Celena and Olrun followed as quickly as they could – or at least, Celena almost ran, panting, while Olrun just took quick, wide steps in a graceful and dignified way. When they reached the oak front doors, Olrun said:

"I will wait for you here," and remained standing, shuffling her hooves, while Celena went through the doors, crossed the Entrance Hall, and hurried in the direction of Snape's office.

She had never been in his office before, but she knew where it was supposed to be. Even though Snape stopped teaching potions and his Defence against the Dark Arts classes were held several floors about, he didn't move his office and quarters from the dungeons. Celena was, in fact, quite happy she didn't have to inherit it, because she still found the dungeons somewhat unwelcoming, despite all the changes. She also knew the common room of Snape's house, Slytherin, must be somewhere around too, but she could never guess which one of the dark corridors might lead to it.

Finally, breathing heavily, her hair a messy tangle, she came to a halt in front of a plain, old, heavy black door that bore a tarnished silver plate saying, "Professor S. Snape". Unable to think of a visit that would be less welcome, she raised a hand and knocked so vigorously she hurt her knuckles.

The door opened very abruptly. Snape towered over her, tall and bat-like, wearing emerald green pajamas and a silk black robe over them, but clearly wide awake.

"Professor Costello. What do I owe the pleasure to?" He asked coldly.

"Evening, Professor Snape," Celena said hastily, trying to steady her breath, "no time to explain – I need some Liquid Moonlight, it's urgent –"

With a sinking, horrible sensation at the pit of her stomach, she saw how very little impact her words made on him. He just stood there, with no inclination to move. Meanwhile, in the Forbidden Forest, Angela was running out of precious time.

"I should make it clear, Professor Costello," said Snape, "that I never said I _have_ any Liquid Moonlight. And even if I did, it would be a very small stock – a very limited stock – and I wouldn't be too quick to part with it."

Now Celena was sure he had it, but Snape was clearly enjoying this display of authority. Should she just hex him and explain later?

"Listen, it's a matter of life and death!" She said anxiously. "I need to prepare a Reviving Potion –"

"For whom?" Snape interrupted icily.

Celena felt a surge of anger. Does it matter _who_ is in mortal danger? And then she remembered Snape didn't want the gargoyles in Hogwarts at the first place…

"Someone's badly hurt. In the Forbidden Forest. There's no time to waste, Professor Snape, please –"

"Who?" Snape repeated, clearly basking in the glow of his superiority, "because if it's a centaur or a gnome or some other half-breed, I must tell you I really couldn't care less…"

Celena was about to panic. She half made her mind to point her wand at Snape, force him to give her the liquid, and justify herself later. But at that moment the door opened and Professor McGonagall came in. The Bowtruckle Celena sent to the castle earlier was sitting on her shoulder.

"What's going on, Celena?" She asked. "I got your message and I've been looking for you everywhere. It's lucky I heard voices. What happened?"

Oh, thank goodness, Celena thought with an enormous rush of gratitude. She felt as though she swallowed a mug of hot Butterbeer in one go.

"I need Liquid Moonlight to make a Reviving Potion, Minerva," Celena said, "it's urgent. One of the gargoyles looks like she was, and we cannot think of another possible way to revive her before the break of dawn."

"Which one?" Professor McGonagall asked.

"It's the chief's daughter, Angela."

"Then let us not waste any more time," said Professor McGonagall. "Severus, I know you always have some Liquid Moonlight. I am sure you will give your full assistance. Now, if you excuse me, I must go and send and owl to the Ministry about this."

And she left.

"Oh, very well," snapped Snape. Dislike etched in every feature of his face, he reached to one of the upper shelves. As he did it, the sleeves of his robe fell down and Celena couldn't hold a gasp that left her mouth involuntarily.

On Snape's left forearm, she saw what looked like a small, black tattoo. It was rather pale and blurred, but Celena recognized it at once. It was –

"Yes." Snape said calmly, slowly, contemplating the skull-like shape on his forearm, and seeing Celena's expression of horror and shock. "The Dark Mark."

He thrust a small glass phial into Celena's hand.

No, this can't be, Celena thought. Sure, she thought Professor Snape was rather unpleasant, he was always biased in favor of the Slytherins and the walls of his office were covered with many jars containing ugly, slimy things and Dark artifacts, but from there to being –

"A _Death Eater?_" Whispered Celena, feeling her knees weaken.

"You said there was no time to waste, Professor Costello," he said, piercing her with those cold, black, glittering eyes of his.

Celena pressed her fingers tight around the small phial and literally ran for it.

No, there wasn't any time to waste, of course. The Reviving Potion was to be made as quickly and accurately as possible, and Celena wasn't even sure if it was ever tried on a gargoyle. There wasn't anything else she could think of doing for Angela, though, so she hurried to her office and brewed and stirred and mixed fervently, adding ingredients with shaky hands and eventually stabbing her forefinger with a sharp needle, to let a drop of her blood fall into the potion, which turned instantly to a dark, greenish shade and gave off a strong smell of weeds. She made a cauldronful, and it was more than enough. She scooped it all into a large bottle, corked it tightly, and ran into the Forest again, accompanied by Olrun, in a hurry to add one last remaining ingredient – a hair from Angela's head.

It was nearly midnight. The gargoyles, her uncle and Hagrid all formed a dense circle around Angela, who was still lying as motionless and unfeeling as she was when Celena left; unaware of anything that was happening around her. Upon noticing Celena, everyone stepped away, looking grim and pale. Celena knelt beside the unconscious Angela, pulled out one of her thick, shiny black hairs and lowered it into the bottle, which she uncorked. Instantly, the potion inside it became indistinguishable from clear, fresh water. Only its smell lingered, setting it apart from Veritaserum, which has no odor at all. Celena carefully raised Angela's head and forced some potion through her tightly pressed lips.

For a few horrible moments, she was sure it didn't work. But then Angela coughed and opened her eyes.

"What was it?" She asked weakly. "I… I have never felt this horrible…"

Her normally lavender skin was now a pale, grayish shade. Celena, Hagrid and Lupin exchanged disappointed looks. They hoped Angela would tell them who or what attacked her. The other gargoyles were looking extremely relieved, though; Demona was supporting Angela, helping her stand; Olrun the centauress was stroking her back.

"Someone is after us," Demona said. Her fists were clenched and her eyes were gleaming white with fury, like a Thestral's. "It's fortunate we happened to be near those who give us shelter and aid us, but it doesn't bring us any nearer to finding the source of this evil."

"Among the few statements of yours I can agree with, Demona," Olrun said rather stiffly. For a second, they glared at each other. Then Demona turned away and her eyes became again their usual black. Those eyes reminded Celena of something else she saw earlier, and she walked straight to her uncle, who was deep in a hushed and hurried conversation with Goliath, on whose shoulder his daughter was now leaning, exhausted. They stopped talking abruptly when Celena approached.

"I will never forget this," said Goliath, looking down at her, his eyes sparkling with what she would think to be tears if she could believe it, "we are indebted to you forever. We will double our vigilance. We will find the culprit, eventually – but it would all be worth nothing to me if my daughter couldn't be saved."

For a moment it looked as though he wanted to hug her, but then he thought better of it and squeezed her hand instead – or rather, her arm. His steely fingers were powerful, it was obvious he could easily crush her bones if he wanted to, and Celena didn't envy the reckless creature that got itself on his wrong side. He threw a protective wing over his wife and daughter and steered them away.

"Rather sensitive for a gargoyle, isn't he?" Lupin said, smiling.

"Uncle Remus," started Celena off the bat, getting hold of the sleeve of his robes and whispering straight in his ear, "did you know Severus Snape used to be a Death Eater?"

Lupin stared at her for a long second, with a mixture of puzzlement and alarm on his face.

"You mean, you didn't know?" He shook his head in disbelief, "but yes… it was such a long time ago… and you spending all those years away in France…"

"I had absolutely no idea," Celena continued quickly and quietly, "I mean, I knew from the start he's a nasty piece of work, but I could never guess he has a – "

"Listen," Lupin said firmly, "just put that out of your mind, alright? I don't like Snape any more than you do. But this isn't anything you should trouble yourself about. A lot can be said about Snape, but he is on our side. Trust me. Right now, we have more pressing matters to deal with."

He sounds so certain, thought Celena. How come?

"Yes," she said, "what did you come here for in the first place, uncle? You said you had something to discuss with Goliath?"

"Oh, don't bother," Lupin waved a weary hand, suddenly looking more tired than ever. "I had a guess of two about their supposed persecutor – or I thought I had, before tonight's attack. I can't know if the attacked targeted at them in the first place, or – and this worries me even more – someone who was trying to break into Hogwarts for some reason. In any case, I told Goliath to assemble his folk in twos and threes on their patrols, and to forbid them to go alone like Angela did tonight."

Lupin, Hagrid and Celena stayed a while longer in Hagrid's hut and had a couple of very strong drinks each, to relax from that night's anxiety. Later, Lupin traveled home by Floo powder through Hagrid's fireplace, and Hagrid escorted Celena to the castle's front doors.

"Yeh really proved yerself tonight, Celena," he said, pulling her into a bone-crushing hug. It was almost like being in Goliath's arms after all, only without the talons and fangs. Celena tried her best to smile and keep breathing until Hagrid finally broke off and blew his nose on a large spotted handkerchief.

"Hagrid," said Celena, who felt awfully hot in the face, "can Severus Snape really be trusted?"

She told him about the incident in Snape's office, with him accidentally revealing the Dark Mark on his arm. Just like Lupin, Hagrid didn't look surprised in the least bit.

"Oh, we suspected him loads o' times. Loads an' loads o' times. But no, he's on our side now. Nasty git, though."

A/N: I know it makes no sense Celena didn't know about Snape being a Death Eater, considering how he openly declared for Voldemort at the end of HBP. But this was written before HBP came out, and I didn't edit this particular detail, even though it doesn't exactly tie in logically. It was important to me that she should know as little as possible about Snape at the beginning. That way, it's clear she dislikes and mistrusts him because of his own conduct, and not because someone told her something about him.


	10. Quidditch

It cannot be said Celena was indifferent to her fiancé's betrayal, but she didn't experience the hollow, terrible feeling of total loss she thought she was supposed to feel after her initial shock about being betrayed died away. But strangely, she was just sick to her stomach whenever she thought of it, quick to convey her mind to other venues. And even more peculiarly, the excitement of the memorable night when she brewed Reviving Potion for Angela was like balm to her wounds.

Timothy Whitechapple was a brilliant, talented young wizard with a glorious future ahead of him, but maybe he wasn't such a great catch after all, Celena reasoned, if he found it possible to get engaged to another woman without bothering to explain anything first.

Celena didn't read the social column again after that day, so she didn't know whether Timothy already married Alexa. Frankly, she didn't want to know, and she didn't try contacting him either. She didn't want to think what would happen if she received an owl from him one of these days.

She was happy she had enough on her mind to keep her going. Her lessons were becoming more challenging now that her younger students have mastered the basics, and she had plenty of essays to read through and rate every night. She also continued giving private lessons to Dennis Creevey each Monday. She found it pretty much pointless at first, because Dennis almost always achieved top grades for his homework; but during their one-on-one sessions she noticed Dennis was indeed very slow when it came to practical work, although sometimes she almost got the impression he was faking it.

"Now, Dennis," she said one evening, trying to keep frustration away from the tone of her voice when once again, the Jaded Jelly he was supposed to make looked like a mix of sand and mud, "I know you can do it properly, I saw your work in class today –"

"I – I don't always work entirely on my own in class," Dennis replied, rather guiltily, "sometimes Martin gives me a hand when I'm having a hard time. But I know I need to work on my own."

"Well, then, let's try once ag –" Celena started, but at that very moment Dennis knocked his cauldron over and semi-liquid mess splattered the floor.

"You know, Dennis, I think we'll have better luck next Monday," she said exasperatedly, cleaning up the mess with one wave of her wand, "tell me the truth, did you prepare for today's lesson at all?"

"Not much," Dennis admitted quietly, avoiding looking at her, and added hurriedly, "I mean, I did a bit… I know it's no excuse, Professor Costello, but we have Quidditch practice four times a week now, and tonight we even skipped dinner to be able to stay longer –"

"That explains it, then," Celena said firmly, "you are just hungry, aren't you? How would you like to have a bite to eat with me, Dennis?"

"Thanks a lot, Professor Costello," he said, the tips of his ears going red, "the truth is that I'm starving. But we won't eat here, right?"

"Of course not," Celena smiled, "Dobby!"

The elf appeared out of thin air with a loud "crack".

"You is wanting something, Miss Costello?" Dobby asked in his high-pitched little voice, staring at her adoringly.

"Yes, Dobby… I wondered – could you bring some tea and sandwiches up to my office?"

"Dobby will do anything for Miss Costello!" Dobby said, puffing up his hairy chest, "Dobby is hearing about Miss Costello's bravery, and Dobby says, I is always knowing Miss Costello is noble and kind to all creatures!"

"If you mean what happened to Angela, Dobby, that was my duty as Master of Potions in this school," said Celena. She rarely flushed brighter than now. Dennis stifled a little laugh he disguised as a cough; Dobby wore odd socks and three hand-knitted hats, one on top of the other.

"Miss Costello is as humble and modest as she is noble! I'll have your tea brought right away," he added, bowed so low that his long, pencil-like nose almost touched the floor, and disappeared with another "crack".

"Oh, he's always like that," Celena shrugged, trying to sound matter-of-fact, "come on, Dennis, or the tea will get cold before we go upstairs."

Dennis only looked up when he finished his fourth sandwich, and Celena was halfway through her buttered crumpet.

"Thanks a lot, Professor Costello," said Dennis, draining his teacup in one huge gulp. "I wouldn't have lasted until breakfast. We have been training really hard all week."

"Playing against Slytherin next weekend, I've heard?" asked Celena, adding sugar to her tea.

"Yeah," Dennis brightened, "we'll show them!"

"Surely," Celena smiled, "and even though I'm not supposed to take sides, as a teacher, since this is a private conversation I feel I can tell you I will be definitely supporting Gryffindor. "

…When Dennis arrived in the common room that night, he found Martin and Melissa doing their homework by the fire. Samantha had already gone up to bed. Both of them had running noses from the long and rainy Quidditch practices they had all week. Dennis was the team's captain and Keeper; both Martin and Melissa played Chasers. Dennis slumped into a comfortable squashy armchair next to his two friends, and stretched his legs with a look of utmost satisfaction on his face.

"Hi there," said Melissa, "are you hungry? Your brother and his friends were nice enough to save us something from dinner."

"It's awfully sweet of Collin," Dennis said slowly, the expression of extreme smugness etched all over his features, "but I'm not hungry. I just had tea with Celena."

He was grinning so broadly he didn't even notice Martin blotched his piece of parchment because he was shaking with silent laughter.

"Oh," said Melissa, raising an eyebrow, "how did your lesson go, then?"

"Well, she calls me Dennis now…" he said dreamily.

"Did you get that trick of the Jaded Jelly this time?" asked Martin.

"… And she knows we're playing against Slytherin next week, and she said she will _definitely_ support Gryffindor…"

"_Of course _she will support Gryffindor," said Melissa, sounding almost as exasperated as Celena not long ago, "I mean, she's alright, isn't she? And she's a friend of Hagrid's."

Dennis suddenly sat very upright in his armchair.

"A friend? A close one?" He demanded.

"Don't be stupid, Dennis," snapped Martin, "if you asked me, but I know you never will, I'd tell you to drop these ridiculous private lessons and stop calling Professor Costello _Celena_ and knock everything over whenever she's around…"

"No, you wait," Dennis cut across him mid-phrase, a manic gleam in his eyes, "you just wait till you see what I'm planning for Christmas!"

…

Melissa Hanson was quite right, of course. Celena, indeed, hoped Gryffindor would win the upcoming Quidditch match because Hagrid was her friend, and because – although, as she kept trying to tell herself, as a teacher she was supposed to be unbiased – she couldn't help disliking most of the Slytherins and tried to avoid being near their Head of House, the hook-nosed, surly Professor Snape, as much as possible.

So next week on Saturday morning, she wrapped a red scarf around her neck and pinned a crimson and gold rosette to the front of her robes, and then went down to the Quidditch pitch with beaming, excited and nervous Hagrid. She noticed about three-quarters of the spectators – nearly everybody who wasn't in Slytherin, in fact – were wearing this or another red garment. They found seats in the front row. Snape was sitting at some distance from them, upright and stiff, wearing green-and-silver gloves and a rosette of matching colors.

Celena was pleased to see the Gryffindor team was clearly better trained – they acted like one being rather than like seven separate minds. Seeker Samantha Gardner was light, agile and speedy and mastered her broom like it was part of her body.

It wasn't that the Slytherin team was bad, either; but it was clear that the two most important people on the team were the two fierce Beaters, Wilkies and Darthy, who swung their clubs menacingly, looking rather like a pair of trolls.

This particular Quidditch game was neither long nor too nerve-wrenching. For about half an hour, the crowd enjoyed watching Martin and Melissa trying to score while dodging the Bludgers aimed at them by the Slytherin Beaters' blows; but the score was only forty-twenty in Gryffindor's favor when Samantha Gardner caught the Snitch and the red and gold crowd erupted in cheers and applause, while the team landed, all of them in a many-armed hug, although the face of Dennis Creevey could have looked happier after such a spectacular win. Samantha was patted by everyone on the back, Hagrid cheered louder than anyone, Celena clapped until she couldn't feel her hands anymore – the first Quidditch game she watched in many years! Snape looked more unpleasant than ever. When Celena passed by him, she distinctly heard him saying to the Slytherin Seeker: "Pathetic, Davenport, you had it right under your nose!"

…

"She could have caught the Snitch some minutes later," murmured Dennis as he walked back to the castle with Martin and Melissa, Samantha lingering behind in her circle of fervent admirers, "I mean, we all know Samantha's brilliant, but I didn't even have the chance to save anything."

"You're raving, mate," Martin said seriously, "even if Samantha knew what this was all about, she would never risk losing a game just so you could impress _Celena_…"

A/N: The story is supposed to be happening in the year following DH (and you'll notice I left a lot of favorite characters alive, such as Remus Lupin, Colin Creevey, Dobby and others – can't see why they should die!), when Colin is in 7-th year. While I was writing this I was sure Dennis was only a year younger than his brother, so I made him a sixth-year. I later realized my mistake but didn't change this detail, considering it not a very major deviation from canon. At the first draft of the story it was actually the older Creevey brother in love with Celena, but then I wouldn't have been able to continue this sub-plot into the next year, and it was meant to play a part in the sequel so I left it as it was.


	11. Frustrated by Fleur

From that day on and for a period of time, nothing exciting actually happened. Celena's lessons went on as usual, she carved times to meet her parents and Uncle Remus and his family, and during one particularly leisurely, stress-free weekend, she even had time to travel to London and meet Fleur for a shopping spree and a few drinks in the Diagon Alley. Fleur, whose social life was much richer than Celena's, thanks to her own beauty and her famous husband Bill Weasley, saw Timothy at several gatherings, always accompanied by Alexa Douglas. Usually very courteous, Fleur refused to speak to him and blatantly ignored him, pretending he doesn't exist, when he made an attempt to greet her.

"Eet eez outrageous," she said to Celena while they were sitting over their drinks in The Leaky Cauldron, a pile of shopping bags carelessly tucked under their table, "'E 'as let Alexa's father buy 'im! 'E eez ready to be enslaved just to 'ave an eezy life…"

"Drop it, Fleur," Celena waved a dismissive hand and took a sip from her Gillywater. As two extremely pretty and well-dressed young witches sitting on their own, she and Fleur attracted a good deal of admiring glances from wizards who were passing by, but Celena pretended not to notice. Every man with an ardent gaze and manly, cleanly shaved jaw seemed to her like a twin of Timothy. "He's a prat, and if he's capable of selling himself to get an easy position in a cauldron-making company, I'm better off to have discovered this before I actually married him."

But Fleur pressed on.

"Ma chérie**,"** she said, resting her chain on one of her elegantly gloved hands, "'E eez not worth ze ground you walk on, but 'ave you ever stopped to theenk what 'e made you _look_ like? Are you aware of ze fact zat eet looks like 'e ditched you – and actually 'e 'as?"

"I'm sure there are people who simply love savoring this situation, but why don't they stick their stupid gossip up their –"

"Non, chérie, non!" Fleur cried out, looking scandalized, and shot a look around her, making sure no one heard Celena, "Surely you don't meen zat! What you need eez to be seen weez a nice young man, to dispel ze rumors zat you are alone and desperate!"

"Oh, don't be silly, I might be alone but I'm certainly not –" Celena started, but by the familiar determined look on Fleur's face, she realized her best friend wasn't just expressing a theoretical idea, "Fleur!" Celena demanded, "You haven't already set me up on a date, have you? _Have_ you?"

Fleur didn't bother to answer. She glanced at her watch, then turned around to look at the bar's entrance, and a gracious smile spread over her lips. Celena, who was sitting across her, couldn't help but see the man who walked in.

Well, it wasn't as bad as it could be, she told herself, when she saw the kind, freckled face, broad shoulders and unchanging travel robes of Bill's brother, Charlie Weasley. She was introduced to Charlie at Fleur's wedding and found him quite nice, but she would rather be somewhere less crowded than The Leaky Cauldron, which was undoubtedly chosen deliberately by Fleur; she would have preferred for Fleur to stay, too, instead of hastily shaking Charlie's hand, kissing Celena on the cheek and vanishing with a satisfied giggle.

"Do you remember me, Miss Costello?" Charlie asked, taking the seat that was previously occupied by Fleur, "We met at my brother's wedding –"

"Oh, sure. You can call me Celena…"

"I know this is all very stupid," he said after a small pause, during which he ordered a large flagon of mead and some roast beef with mashed potatoes for both of them, "but Fleur isn't someone to be argued with, and you should look at the positive side – it could have been Percy…"

"Oh?" Celena nearly choked on her drink, "Surely Fleur wouldn't..?" She has met the third Weasley brother too, and his manner, although improved a lot lately but still dull and snappish, seemed out of place in his nice, warm, close-knit family. But at least they were all on speaking terms again, after a long period of total estrangement.

"Oh yes. Fleur said we can arrange this between us, and she doesn't care who it is, but one of us will have to go. We tried appealing to Bill, but he just said you are lucky Fleur didn't think of asking Fred or George – or both of them. So eventually, I took pity on you," he said with a wink and broad grin, which Celena gratefully returned.

"Typical. Fleur at her best," Celena was annoyed, but couldn't help laughing at the same time, "but if we are already here, I'll try not to be too unpleasant company."

So they ate heartily, and it wasn't so bad really. There were many common acquaintances so that the conversation didn't stop, and eventually the talk turned to Charlie's work and the different sorts of strange beasts and people he encountered thanks to his position as Dragon-trainer and traveling all around the world.

"I love the different races," he told Celena, "goblins and centaurs and gargoyles… by the way, has everything been quiet since that night? I've heard all about it from your uncle," he explained.

"Yes, fortunately – I've seen Goliath a few times since that happened and he told me they are more careful now. Move only in packs… Charlie," she stopped, struck by a sudden wave of inspiration, "I know you and my uncle have an idea about who could be Angela's attacker…"

At first, she thought Charlie wouldn't speak, despite the softening influence of his third drink, but then he leaned forward and whispered:

"Angela was Petrified, no doubt about that. But it wasn't a regular, wand-made spell, or we could have revived her in a much easier way. It was, as we guess, powerful magic of some non-wizard, part-human species. I'll tell you more – the Ord- your uncle, I mean, thinks it was done as a warning – a very grim warning – by someone who has a feeling of deep loathing for the gargoyles, and especially Wyvern clan."

"Oh, come on," Celena started from his scarred, burned hands to his clear grey eyes under slightly singed eyebrows, "I know my uncle and I'm sure his guess was more particular. You want me to think you don't know anything, Charlie? I'll find out anyway, you know…"

Charlie was silent for a moment, then leaned closer and said:

_"Werewolves."_

She almost had to read his lips. She opened her mouth, closed it, and frowned:

"Oh, Charlie…" she shook her head, "if it's true, this is really serious… werewolves have been really quiet since the Second War ended – and how does it explain the magic performed on Angela? She wasn't bitten, just Petrified."

"That's a part we can't satisfactorily explain either," admitted Charlie, "however, the Scottish gargoyles and the werewolves waged war on one another ever since the First War, when the gargoyles refused to join You-Know-Who. The gargoyles beat them up roughly more than once or twice, too… so now they have vengeance coming upon them. We won't exclude the possibility that they aren't acting on their own, either."

"It's not all, then, is it?" She inquired, staring anxiously at Charlie's grave face.

"No," he shook his head, "werewolves aren't a very brave crowd. You know how it was during the two Wars. In the First War, when He Who Must Not Be Named promised them rich rewards and plenty of blood, they became fearless and violent. Then, there was a quiet time while he was gone from power… and during the Second War they were strong again, led by Fenrir Greyback, as you remember."

"He Who Must Not Be Named is gone," Celena paused, "and so is Fenrir Greyback."

She wanted to sound determined, but there was a lingering trace of a question in her voice.

Charlie looked around nervously. The bar was packed, but this was exactly what made it safer – nobody bothered to listen to them. He leaned closer.

"They are gone, no doubt," he said, fiddling two big, short-nailed thumbs together, "but it doesn't mean they left nothing behind."

"The Horcruxes were destroyed," said Celena, "it is known. Same goes for many other Dark artifacts, and even though some might have remained…"

"I should have said _no one_."

"His supporters? But they have no one to follow. No master to serve."

"I speak," Charlie said softly, "of a son."

Celena gaped at him and opened her mouth to speak, but he silenced her firmly, looking anxious:

"I will not say anything more. Too risky. You aren't supposed to know anything at all. Speak with Hagrid – or better, put the whole matter out of your mind."


	12. Season of discoveries

A son? Was it possible, Celena asked herself again and again, that Voldemort had a son? Did Charlie mean a son in the sense people usually meant it or something that was beyond her understanding? Through most of her life, Celena had been a cautious person, saying it's safer to know less and sleep better, but now the matter was far too grave to forget about it like Charlie suggested. Only a week was left before Christmas. She wasn't sure she would be able to speak with Hagrid during all the holiday rush, but she made a firm decision to corner him the moment students left Hogwarts to spend their holidays at home.

Hagrid sure had his hands full, commanding an army of exhausted house elves. He was responsible for the delivery of Christmas trees, which were later magnificently decorated with magic unmelting snow, for the Hogwarts grounds, his usual Care of Magical Creatures classes, and for the Gryffindor students who were becoming more and more restless as a blissful season of freedom from lessons, homework and revision was approaching.

In the week before Christmas, Celena had been to the Forest once more, down the now familiar path to the gargoyles' clearing, in a vague hope to encounter Hagrid there and have a one on one conversation with him on the way back to his cabin. She didn't find Hagrid, but was happily welcomed by Angela, who beamed at her, looking perfectly well and healthy as she was about to head off to training and hunting. Demona appeared for a couple of moments too. She didn't look quite as hostile as before, but didn't say a word and retreated very quickly.

"Don't mind my mother," Angela said, "she is behaving strangely ever since I was attacked. I suspect she is going to lay an egg."

"You don't have any brothers or sisters, do you?" Celena asked.

"My clan is my brothers and sisters. But blood brothers like Korian to my mother, no. My mother and father haven't been together for years and years, you see. They had very serious – uh – disagreements in the past, mostly about the way each thought our clan should be led…"

Celena "humphed", remembering the fight she witnessed on her first visit.

"… And then my mother made… well… mistakes, yes. She left us and for years it seemed she would never come back. I thought – everyone thought – that they hated each other, you know, my mother and father. Then once she got herself in danger, and Goliath took her under his protection. Not that he was happy to do that. But he did anyway. And well – they decided to come back together again. I was overjoyed – my mother isn't exactly easy, you know, but my father was terribly lonely all those years without her, anyone could see that."

On her way back, no Hagrid in sight, she noticed Goliath. She saw him a few times before, from her office window, a huge, dark, winged shadow, on his way to patrol or hunt. Now he was sitting with his wife in a small patch of grass between two trees. He had his head in her lap and she was stroking his long, black, shaggy mane of hair. From time to time she purred and leaned in to kiss him.

… With every day that passed, Hogwarts looked more and more festive; there were garlands of holly and mistletoe and Christmas trees adorned the Great Hall. Only a few students would remain over the holidays, Celena knew, but the feast was still promising to be something; to add to the holiday's atmosphere, and also because her wardrobe somehow started looking shabbier ever since Timothy's betrayal, Celena thought she should get new dress robes for Christmas, as well as a new cloak, hat and pair of boots. And so on the last weekend before Christmas, she headed off to Hogsmeade.

It had snowed the night before; it was a bright and crispy winter day, and Celena was planning to visit the Three Broomsticks for a drink of hot Butterbeer after shopping.

"I will not wear anything but this!" She exclaimed when she saw that dress robe, a bright spot of turquoise among all the black, navy blue and midnight purple. The hem and sleeves were richly embroidered with silver; the sleeves widened from the shoulder downwards, almost touching the ground when she lowered her arms. I look beautiful; she thought ecstatically when she saw herself in the large mirror. Somehow, the high price of the dress robes, completely incompatible with her modest teacher's wages, only made her more satisfied. She also got a matching pair of glittering, high-heeled shoes, a rich and heavy purple winter cloak with a matching hat, a pair of dragon skin boots and several pairs of stockings, and was contemplating a pair of gloves, so lost in concentration that she didn't even notice a man who entered the little shop.

"These are sort of nice," she said hesitantly. The saleswitch nodded exasperatedly, sweeping away the pile of gloves that were already tried on and discarded. "I guess lavender really is my color… but they aren't tight enough, so they don't really bring out my hands… could I get those cream-colored ones again please?"

"Is the weekend going to pass before I can pay for these three pairs of socks?"

Involuntarily, Celena gave a small jump as she turned. Professor Snape was standing right there, wearing his usual black robes and a scowl.

"I apologize, sir," said the saleswitch, "it's always busy before Christmas."

"Right," he said icily, staring at Celena, "Professor Costello, have I, perchance, sprouted an extra head? You look at me like I suggested _you_ should be the main dish at Christmas dinner."

The truth was, naturally, that Celena had tried to avoid Snape at all costs ever since she found out about the small mark on his forearm; however, she pulled herself back together and bravely stated:

"I was just thinking it's time for you to get out of these blacks, Professor Snape. Surely you don't intend to wear black at Christmas dinner?"

_Oh goodness, what did I say this for, she thought in panic._

"If you had the chance to choose my robes, Professor Costello, I suppose your choice would be canary yellow?"

Snape raised his eyebrows, smiling maliciously and eyeing Celena's bright-colored pile of purchases. Celena became red in the face and quickly started to tuck her shopping into a large bag.

"Let me show you our lovely, solid colors, sir," chimed in the saleswitch, "just look at this elegance!"

Celena quickly counted out the money and rushed out of the shop to the Three Broomsticks.

It was packed when she arrived. At first, all she thought about was getting a hot Butterbeer and heading back to Hogwarts as quickly as possible, but then she spotted Hagrid, sitting alone and drinking deeply from a huge tankard. Celena waved happily and made her way between the tables towards him.

"Getting a bit of rest, Hagrid?" She asked.

"Yeah," he replied, "Ev'rything's ready for Christmas."

At that point, Madam Rosmerta approached them.

"What would you like to have, my dear?" She asked Celena.

"A Butterbeer, Rose," Celena said, "make it steaming, it's freezing outside."

"Another mug o' mead fer me, Rosmerta," said Hagrid, but Celena placed a firm hand on his sleeve.

"No, Hagrid. We must talk, and I need your head to be as clear as possible."

Madam Rosmerta nodded and scurried away.

"Aight," he nodded sadly, "what is it, Celena?"

"Hagrid, I saw Charlie Weasley," she started. Hagrid chuckled.

"Ye went out on a date, Bill told me."

"Don't be silly," Celena blushed, "that was just a stupid idea of Fleur's… anyway, it seems Charlie knows a lot of things I don't, and well, that's understandable, after all he's in the Ord-"

Hagrid pressed a thick finger to his lips and she went silent.

"Sure yeh don't know, and why should yeh?"

"I am reliable, you know it, Hagrid," she said, "I could contribute a lot. I think it is time for me to – to join you."

Hagrid stared at her in disbelief.

"Girl, are yeh outta yer mind, talkin' 'bout it here?" He demanded.

"Hagrid, don't try to shake me off," she pressed on, "now I know everything about He Who Must Not Be Named. I know he had," she lowered her voice, "a son."

Hagrid choked on the last of his mead, coughed and waved a huge hand.

"Charlie's got a big mouth. He should've kept ter small talk. What's he thinkin', discussin' this with yeh? I'm not tellin' anythin'. Ye're wasting yer time, Celena. Now, I know ye're trustworthy an' everythin', a niece of Remus an' all, but rules are rules. Until Professor McGonagall decides you can join, I'm silent as a tomb."

Celena tried not to show her dismay. The bar was packed and noisy, already decorated for Christmas and full of Hogwarts students. She didn't notice Dennis Creevey, who was sitting only two tables away and looking at her adoringly; trying to sound as casual as possible, she contemplated:

"But you know, Hagrid, I've been thinking… You Know Who practiced so many Dark Arts that he wasn't really human anymore… not for a long time, at least. How could he have a son at all, in the sense we usually mean it? Or was it another bit of dark magic? Did he actually have a normal child with an ordinary woman?"

"Well, Bellatrix wasn't what yeh'd call a normal woman," countered Hagrid, and immediately covered his mouth with an enormous hand, having realized he said too much. However, it was too late.

"Bellatrix?" Celena whispered, "Bellatrix Lestrange?"


	13. The fabulous feast

The Christmas feast was magnificent; the house-elves outdid themselves with the decorations, in such a manner that even Celena, who was used to the splendor of Beauxbatons, was impressed. There was only one long table for the staff ad the few remaining students – mostly older ones, who needed extra hours in the library as their OWLs and NEWTs loomed closer.

"I see that you decided to stay in Hogwarts for the holidays, Mr. Creevey," Celena said cheerfully, "wise move! A few more weeks of hard work and I can safely say you are on the right track to an Outstanding NEWT."

Dennis blushed and nodded awkwardly. He was wearing dress robes, even though the other students didn't change their usual uniforms. His friend Martin Nordholm sat by his side; Melissa was gone for the holidays.

The Great Hall sparkled, all garlands of holly and mistletoe and beautiful Christmas trees covered with glittering decorations and never-melting snow. Hagrid sat next to Celena, wearing his horrible brown hair suit and an orange tie. It was his idea to invite some of the gargoyles to the feast, and although there was no rule that could prohibit it, the teachers and students looked somewhat uncomfortable, despite the fact that everyone knew there were gargoyles residing in the Forbidden Forest. Fortunately, most of the clan stayed out to hunt and dance around a fire in the middle of their clearing, and only Goliath, Demona, Angela and Korian accepted Hagrid's generous invitation.

Korian, incidentally, was seated on Celena's other side. She never exchanged more than a few words with him before; he was quite graceful for a gargoyle, slender and not very tall, his garments were very much like human that night, and his large leathery wings were neatly folded around his shoulders, like a cloak. His red hair and blue skin exacerbated his resemblance to his sister, but fortunately, his gallant and cheerful company was much more pleasant.

"In the past," he told Celena, "gargoyles and humans lived side by side and treated each other like natural allies. My people didn't always dwell in forests, eating raw meat; perhaps this dinner will mark the return of happier times. To your health, my lady," he concluded, raising a goblet of wine and draining it. When the first course appeared on the golden plates, he surprised Celena by being quite skilled with a knife and fork.

Goliath, who was sitting on Hagrid's other side, both of them towering over the rest of the diners, was having less success. Bewildered, he looked at his fork, knife and spoon, every feature of his roughly sculpted face showing uncertainty. In despair, he grabbed the delicate silver fork and jabbed it at his portion so violently that it hit the plate with a screech and bent.

"Just drop it, my handsome," Demona said in a surprisingly delicate manner. She was holding her spoon almost as skillfully as Korian.

Goliath shrugged, grinning (a few girls flinched as he bared his sharp, long, white teeth) and tore off a chunk of meat. In contrast with Korian, Demona and even Angela he was looking as wild as ever, wearing only a loincloth despite the cold outside, his enormous chest bare. Only his mane of black hair was braided that night.

Everybody was already finishing their first course when Professor McGonagall looked around and asked:

"Where is Severus? I haven't seen him all day."

Not a second after that, the door opened and Snape came walking in, a long, warm black cloak billowing behind him.

It must be said that he made an effort to make his appearance more pleasant that night. His robes were new, bottle-green instead of his usual black; his hair, instead of hanging loosely and limply at the sides of his beak-like nose, was neatly pulled back. His cloak was pinned with a green emerald brooch, and he even sported a green Slytherin scarf, much like he usually did on Quidditch matches. However, it looked as though all this was made to cover up for his hollow and tired look. His eyes were red from lack of sleep, it seemed, and he looked thinner than usual. He sat in his chair as stiffly as always, but Celena noticed he was eating much more than usual. He had a second helping of everything, and only when desserts appeared on the golden plates he didn't take a bite, but instead leaned back and sipped from his goblet through thin, tightly pursed lips.

"That man in green," whispered Korian, leaning close to her under the pretext of pouring more wine into her goblet, "gives you very nasty looks. Any idea why?"

"I hoped I was imagining this," she replied quietly.

When dinner was over and it came to dancing – they had a live orchestra from Hogsmeade – Celena was unexpectedly invited by Korian. After getting over the surprise, Celena realized he has no clue about human dancing – he just spun her around and twisted and turned; however, he did that very gracefully, so Celena simply let him lead and they made quite a show, no less than Goliath and his wife, who were performing part of their dance in midair. Professor McGonagall made an unexpected pair with tiny Professor Flitwick, and Hagrid was waltzing clumsily with Professor Sprout.

Celena was laughing at a joke Korian told her, and catching her breath between two songs, when she heard an icy, dry voice behind her back:

"May I borrow your lady, Mr. Leatherwings?"

It was so unexpected, so un-Snapish, that Celena's mind went blank and she allowed her hand to be taken by a slender-fingered palm, dry and cold just as the voice that spoke. Another song started playing. Everybody, she felt, was staring. She knew for sure she would, if she saw Snape dance. He moved smoothly, firmly steering her away from the tight circle that formed the center of the dance floor. He was holding her so tightly and uncomfortably that she felt like escaping, but to her surprise, he pulled her closer.

"Want an advice, Miss Costello?" She heard a hissing whisper. "Don't babble."

"I don't know what you…" she started saying, but she already guessed and her knees turned weak. She thought Snape was going to crush her fingers.

"You are a foolish girl playing detective," he said in a dangerously quiet voice. "The Three Broomsticks? You could as well publish it in _The Daily Prophet_."

Celena didn't say a word, pierced by the penetrating stare of those cold, glittering black eyes.

"That's right," he nodded, "learn to keep your mouth shut, Miss Costello."

And without waiting for the song to end, he took her firmly by the arm and led her back to her place.


	14. An unpleasant conversation

He knows what he's talking about, Celena thought as she tossed desperately in her bed that night. She could have sworn she didn't see Snape in The Three Broomsticks, but it was so crowded… perhaps he was sitting in a small shadowy corner right behind her?

She wasn't worried only about being overheard by Snape. If there were still Voldemort's supporters on the loose – and it seemed there were – they wouldn't want anybody to know that the Dark Lord had a son; perhaps by warning her not to talk about it, Snape revealed his hidden side, much more threatening than his usual unpleasantness? She knew Snape had proved his loyalty, but still this seemed to be suspicious…

She could hardly sleep that night. She got up at dawn, and absent-mindedly started opening her presents. She got new boots from her parents, a bottle of exquisite perfume from Fleur, and some books from Uncle Remus.

Uncle Remus! It suddenly dawned on her. Someone from the Order must know about this. She was about to scoop up some Floor Powder and head to her fireplace, when she noticed another present, neatly wrapped in a small package. When she opened it, she saw a delicate golden chain with a carefully ornate medallion, a large "C" engraved in it and a topaz sparkling in its middle.

It was from Timothy, she knew. He wants to dump his boring Alexa and get back together – only this isn't going to happen, she thought stubbornly. But gold was gold. Celena slipped the chain around her neck. Timothy always had a good taste in jewelry, she thought with a sigh.

… "Remus isn't home," Dora told her through the fireplace, "can you imagine he headed off to the Headquarters right after Christmas dinner?"

"It isn't an easy time, Dora," Celena nodded, "perhaps I could tell you? You are in the Order too – "

"Better not," Dora shook her head, "not safe doing it through here, if it's something serious. You are in Hogwarts; the best thing you could do is talk to Minerva McGonagall."

Celena saw Professor McGonagall at breakfast, but she disappeared too quickly, right after consuming a bowl of porridge and a cup of coffee, and Celena didn't have a chance to talk to her.

She sighed, resigned to go to the Headmistress' office right after breakfast, and started spreading marmalade on her toast.

"She's wearing it," Dennis Creevey whispered excitedly, on the other end of the large table that was set to host all the students and teachers for the holidays.

"That's because she doesn't know it's from you," Martin said exasperatedly, "sending her gold, really! Have you spent your entire year's allowance on Professor Costello?"

After breakfast, Celena climbed up the winding staircase to Professor McGonagall's office and knocked on the heavy door.

"Come in!" She heard Professor McGonagall's voice.

Unfortunately, she didn't find Professor McGonagall alone. She was in the company of the very man Celena wanted to avoid – Snape, who glared openly at her.

"Ah," McGonagall frowned, "Celena. Just the person I needed to see. We need to talk."

"I meant to talk to you too, Professor McGonagall," Celena nodded. "Only… I wish we could do it in private," she suggested delicately.

"Severus will stay." McGonagall cut directly through her words. "Because of what he told me, I meant to summon you if you hadn't come here first. Severus informed me that your tongue is, shall we say, more loose than usual lately. Tell me, Celena, is it true?"

"I just… I wanted…" Celena blushed and stammered.

McGonagall rose from her chair and approached her.

"You are close to Remus and Hagrid," she said, "do you want to see them hurt because of your carelessness?"

"It appears," Snape stepped in, every word dripping with venom, "that Professor Costello feels there is nothing she isn't supposed to know… and nothing she isn't supposed to let out."

"It was a mistake, I agree," Celena bent her head, "but I can do much better than that! I can be helpful, I can…" and she choked, looking at Snape.

"Our young and charming Professor Costello thinks it would be exciting to join the Order." Snape raised an eyebrow.

"Doesn't it make perfect sense, Professor McGonagall?" Celena implored, trying not to look at Snape. "I'm loyal. I have useful abilities. I could do a lot for the Order. If we are facing dark times again, it is important to recruit the right people! I'm a qualified potion-maker, I'm great at Apparition, I can speak fluent French…" she trailed off.

"If you indeed join us one day," McGonagall gave her a piercing look, "it will be after you have learned how to be discreet; for that is the most important quality we are looking for, Celena. Ask any member of the Order. Ask your uncle or Hagrid. Ask Severus…"

It took a few seconds for this to sink in. Celena looked at Snape, who wore his usual black robes and an amused smirk.

"You…" she whispered. "You are in the Order?"


	15. The photograph

It was a shock. It was a shock so great, in fact, that Celena decided to lie low for the time being. She stopped poking, prodding and interrogating Hagrid. Holidays came and went, and Celena hardly left the castle at all, determined to be absorbed only in her own work. Her first-years have mastered the basics, the fifth-years could already smell their O., and her N.E.W.T classes have never been more demanding.

… "And this is why we will have to suspend our extra lessons for the time being, Dennis," she said to a crestfallen Dennis Creevey one night in her office. "I won't say there's nothing to improve in your work, but it's not urgent, and right now I simply cannot spare the time. I have essays to check, classes to prepare, and almost every day someone lands themselves in detention. But of course, if you feel you are having some particular difficulty," she added hastily, "you can always approach me at the end of class. And I must say, Dennis, that I find it quite remarkable how you put every effort into trying to achieve perfection."

"Thank you, Professor Costello," Dennis said in a rather gloomy voice and departed.

… Later, in the Gryffindor common room, he quietly told Martin and Melissa that his private lessons were suspended for an indefinite period of time. Martin's reaction was predictable.

"It's for the best, mate. We're busy too – we've got homework and exams coming soon, and Quidditch… and it's not like you even needed the stupid lessons anyway, and let's face it – you would never actually…"

Dennis flared up, wanted to make an angry retort, then thought better of it and stared down at his shoelaces. He knew Martin was right. They were busy, and he would never actually… or would he?

"I think I can guess why Professor Costello is having difficulties to find spare time." Melissa said suddenly. She was silent until that moment, writing a letter home. "She's suffering through pangs of a broken heart."

"What?" said Martin, raising his eyebrows.

"What?" exclaimed Dennis, knocking over his bottle of ink.

"Oh, you don't read the gossip column in the "Prophet", do you?" Melissa rolled her eyes. "Don't you know she was engaged to someone named Timothy Whitechapple?"

"Engaged?" gasped Dennis.

"Yes, but this Whitechapple guy is married to someone else now, some daughter of a rich cauldron-maker. The talk is, he didn't even bother to tell Professor Costello their engagement is off."

Dennis looked as though they had just won the inter-House Quidditch cup.

"She needs someone who can understand her, then," he said. "You know… at this difficult moment."

"Perhaps." Melissa said dryly. "But we'll never know for sure, because I doubt Professor Costello would be inclined to share her personal life with you!"

"Drop it, mate," urged Martin. "I understand you, she's good-looking and really nice, but it would be much better to put her out of your mind, she's a ruddy teacher! Here, you had better help me with this Charms essay…"

Celena decided she would learn to be discreet. Now she got used to sitting in her office, for long minutes, her tongue pressed against the roof of her mouth, her lips pressed together. She would master this new art of saying nothing when she had, in fact, plenty to say.

She still wanted to join the Order but felt as though she could not, under any circumstances, butt in. Therefore she contained all her curiosity and her thoughts about Voldemort's son, and carried it around silently.

Her classes were becoming more and more demanding, too. Her students might have found the long and complicated essays they had to write a pain in the neck, but Celena was the one who had to stay up late into the night, reading and correcting them. She wasn't as strict as Snape, but she had a sharp eye and a sense for perfection, and very rarely an essay got off without being marked in red ink.

One afternoon, she was downstairs in her Potions classroom, checking the contents of her store cupboard. Classes were already over; she was preparing for next morning's lesson – her seventh-years were going to attempt a particularly complex and difficult potion, an antidote against Befuddlement Draught.

"Toad sweat!" She scanned and double-checked all the cupboard's drawers, but it was nowhere to be found. "Could it be that Professor Snape didn't pass me the lot along with the rest of his supplies?"

She felt a chill creep down her spine when she thought of Snape. She hasn't talked to him since the embarrassing scene in McGonagall's office. She also attempted to sit as far away from him as possible during meals, and avoided looking at him if they passed each other in the dungeons corridor, she on her way to or from her Potions class, he heading to or from his small dark office.

She still shook her head in disbelief whenever she thought of it. She knew that some former Death Eaters were forgiven and returned to normal, law-abiding lives. However, caution was always applied when dealing with them, and they were seldom entrusted with jobs that required confidentiality. Snape, on the other hand, was no less than a member in the Order of the Phoenix – an organization that wouldn't accept just any witch or wizard, even if they had an impeccable past. Her own example showed it very clearly.

Having Snape there made sense in many ways, of course. He was a talented wizard, that couldn't be denied. His potion-making skills were equal to Celena's, and he knew a great deal about the Dark Arts. He knew which methods the Dark wizards might use – because he had been there once, as one of them, Celena reminded herself with a shudder, he had been on the Dark side.

Yes, he is useful. But how come they trust him so?

She found Snape in his office. He, too, was checking a tottering pile of essay, and Celena noticed he was far from generous. She noticed no "O"s, only a small number of "E"s and "A"s, a great deal of "D"s and even a couple of "T"s – Celena hasn't given even one "T" in her time at Hogwarts, careful not to disrupt a struggling student's self-confidence by labeling him or her as "Troll".

"Horrid performance." Snape noted coolly, noticing where she looked. "I daresay more than a few of the idiots I have for pupils will never know when a Shielding Charm is appropriate, and when it's a waste of time and energy… and this is O.W.L year. Do you need anything, Professor Costello?"

"As a matter of fact, yes, Professor Snape… I was just looking through my cupboard, and I couldn't find any Toad sweat. I thought you might happen to have some."

Snape labeled the last unfortunate essay with a large blotchy "T", and looked up.

"I will check and tell you at dinner, Professor Costello," he said, his voice as icy as ever. "Maybe I still have a stock lying around."

Celena would have been only too happy to nod and get away from there, but she still felt the need to say:

"If it is not too much trouble, Professor Snape, would you mind looking for it now? I need it for tomorrow morning."

"Oh, very well," he snapped, getting up and starting to rummage through his drawers.

"Toad sweat… toad sweat…" he muttered. "Has to be around here, if my memory doesn't play tricks with me…"

He jerked out, then slammed shut drawer after drawer, raising clouds of dust. One drawer was full of old, yellowing envelopes. When he pulled it open, something fluttered onto the floor, right in front of Celena. She couldn't help but look. It was a photograph of a young girl, maybe sixteen or seventeen at most. It looked at least twenty years old. The girl, Celena couldn't help noticing, was very pretty. She had copper hair and bright green eyes. On her lips she wore an indulgent smile. She winked and gave a small wave.

All that she noticed in a flash. Within a second, Snape dived for the photograph, tucked it safely into his robes and straightened up. He looked furious.

"Here is your toad sweat," he snarled, thrusting a dark green bottle into Celena's hands.

She hurried to leave.


	16. Search of the attacker

Over the next few days, it seemed as though nothing changed. She continued without talking to Snape, but it must be admitted she often found herself thinking about the photograph she had a glimpse of. Who was the pretty girl who seemed to have nothing in common with sour-looking, hook-nosed Snape? She couldn't possibly be related to him, they didn't look anything alike… or could she? Come to think of it, she knew nothing about Snape's family. But why would he keep that one particular old photograph, and conceal it between dusty envelopes?

One night, late into January, Celena was reading a book in her dormitory, already in pajamas and a dressing-gown. It was a dark, moonless night, and snow was falling thick over the school grounds. Hagrid's cabin looked as though it was covered in a layer of frosting, its orange lights warm and welcoming in the distance.

Celena was distracted by a rapt knock on her window. She was expecting a letter from home, and hurried to open the shutters.

She gasped.

Instead of the ruffled brown feathers of the family owl, Walter, she saw a brilliantly red head and pale blue wings.

"Korian!" She exclaimed. The gargoyle's wings were folded, and he was clinging to the wall in a seemingly effortless way, helped by his mighty claws that dug into the stone.

"Sorry for the interruption," he grinned, baring his sharp white teeth.

"Come… come in, then." She said, stepping away from the window and slowly recovering from her surprise. "Let me close the window, it's freezing outside… did anything happen?"

Korian was extracting bits of stone and dust from under his steely, cat-like claws. He looked very grave. Despite the cold, he was dressed very lightly – apart from his usual loincloth, he only wore a pair of leggings and a weird-looking woolen tunic which was wrapped around his wings at the back. He rolled up his left sleeve and Celena saw fresh bandages, a red stain of blood blossoming through them.

"You are hurt, Korian! What happened?"

"An intruder." He said grimly. "Hooded and masked. Tried to get to the school and ran right into our patrol. Sent quite a lot of nasty curses at us before running for it."

"It looks as though he tried to use _Sectumsempra_," she said, examining the gargoyle's arm. He winced. "Only fortunately for you, he wasn't very successful. You gargoyles have thicker skin than humans, it must have protected you."

"Ah, I just dodged," Korian said airily. "You should see Goliath. His thigh is all covered in bloody gashes. My sister went mad…"

Celena shuddered, thinking of the power of a curse that would cut through Goliath's skin, which resembled dragon hide more than anything else.

"But who would attack you here?" She asked, her brain reeling. "Especially a wizard?"

"Oh, it didn't look as though he was aiming at us. He just looked like he wanted to get to the school, and we simply stood in his way. But Goliath still wants to ask the Headmistress to transfer our eggs into the castle. Hagrid is helping carry them…"

"I want to talk to Professor McGonagall about this." Celena said firmly. "Come with me, Kor."

The news traveled fast – when Celena and Korian reached the circular staircase that led to the Headmistress' office, McGonagall was already descending, white and stern, her jaw set, accompanied by professors Snape and Flitwick, both of whom look grim. McGonagall was wearing her tartan dressing gown; it was visible under her cloak. There was a hair net in her hair and tartan slippers on her feet. Nobody seemed to pay attention to that.

"You're here, good," she nodded, "I just got a message from Hagrid. I need a word with your leader, Korian. Come along, Hagrid will mop you up. Filius, alert the teachers and the Head Boy and Girl. Form patrols in pairs and threes and search the Forbidden Forest. Severus, Celena, you can start right now. Search closer to the gates, that's where he attacked, isn't that so, Korian?"

"That's right," the gargoyle nodded, nursing his injured arm.

If anyone had asked Celena with whom she would least of all want to go into the dark and dangerous Forbidden Forest in the dead of night, she most likely would have named Professor Snape - a former Death Eater and now a member of the Order of the Phoenix, but with a Death Eater's tattoo engraved forever into his arm, looking forbidding in his billowing black cloak.

When they approached the edge of the forest, both of them said "Lumos", and their wand tips produced two narrow beams of light, with the help of which they scanned every area ahead of them. Snape didn't say a word.

"Do you think the infiltrator was stupid enough to leave clues behind him, Professor Snape?" she asked politely, searching behind an ancient tree trunk and avoiding looking at Snape.

"I believe not." He replied curtly, something like a twisted grin distorting the corners of his mouth. "Not if they are who I think… dear old friends…"

Celena felt a terrible chill run down her spine. Old friends. So this isn't just guesswork. He thinks those were his dear old Death Eater pals. But why? What does he know?

A lot more than you, said a truthful little voice in her head. They continued walking around, beams of lights from their wands on dry twigs and leaves.

All of a sudden, Celena felt a firm, rough, painful grip on her left arm, felt herself being jerked backwards and turned around violently. Without thinking, instinctively, she raised her wand in a lightning-fast motion, and pointed it, panting, right at Snape's heart.

Surprisingly, he looked amused. He didn't make any effort to draw out his own wand. A cold smile flickered over his thin mouth, his black eyes glinted dangerously.

"You nearly tripped, Professor Costello." He said softly and coolly, illuminating a thick, protruding root with his wand. It was gnarled and massive – and sure enough, Celena didn't notice it in the dark.

He still had her arm in a grip.

Suddenly, Celena was very much aware of the steely feeling of his fingertips, of the lean and strong arm that pulled her back so forcefully. She lowered her wand, her cheeks burning. She wanted to apologize, but all her constricted throat could manage was a small squeak.

… Fortunately, their search didn't last much longer. It was plain that there was nothing to be found in their area. Snape didn't look surprised. They headed for Hagrid's cabin.

Korian was sitting by the fire, his wings folded, his injured arm now in a sling. He was sipping something poisonous-looking from one of Hagrid's enormous cups. Hagrid himself was sitting next to his crude wooden table, polishing his crossbow.

"'Lo," he said, "some night, eh?"

Celena could see what he meant. His bed was occupied by Goliath; one of his legs was almost entirely bandaged and propped up. He looked calm, but very pale. His wife was fussing about him, covering him with Hagrid's quilt and wiping his face with a clean wet cloth.

"I'm sorry you didn't find more peace in this forest, Goliath," said Professor McGonagall who walked in, looking disgruntled.

Goliath waved one of his enormous, taloned hands.

"We weren't the true target this time." He said. "There was supposed to be another victim tonight."

"How does it feel, Goliath?" Celena asked tentatively.

"Oh, I've been through worse – really, my heart," he turned to his wife, "you know I've been through much worse than that, no need to be upset."

Demona, however, looked close to tears when she smoothed out his tangled black hair.

"And I've been so terrible to you lately." She said in a constricted voice.

"No," he said quickly, "you haven't… you really…" he trailed off, and got hold of her hand instead. "Look, I'll be fine, my love. And our eggs will be safe. Professor McGonagall arranged moving them all into the castle."

None of the other teachers found anything either. However, the security was doubled, a note was sent to Hogsmeade inquiring after anyone suspicious who might have been seen in "The Three Broomsticks" or "The Hog's Head". Professor McGonagall went to send an owl to the Ministry, and Snape went with her.

After wishing a speedy recovery to Goliath and saying goodbye to Hagrid, Celena returned to her room, but she didn't feel remotely sleepy now.

Who was the attacker and what was it in Hogwarts that he wanted? Snape obviously suspected something, but of course, she would never dare to ask him share his suspicions with her. Once again, a flush crept over her face. Disliking him was one thing – he was a vicious, nasty type, always ready to make a snide comment about her teaching methods – but pulling her wand out at him… well, he _is_ a former Death Eater, Celena tried to justify herself, anyone would have thought…

You still have to apologize, said that small voice inside her head.


	17. Murder at the Ministry

Celena's uncle Remus dropped by that weekend. They met in Hogsmeade and simply walked around the village, away from prying eyes. Celena filled him in on the events of that troublesome night.

"Hmm," he said, "I'm afraid I'm not any closer to solving this than you are. Severus has a few ideas, but not anything in particular. We are having a meeting tonight with Professor McGonagall, though. The three of us, maybe we will…"

"Can I ask you, Uncle…" Celena started, but Remus stopped her:

"No, don't even try. That's confidential information. Members of the Order only."

"No, Uncle… I… well, a few days ago I – I was in Professor Snape's office, I needed something from him, and well, I, er, accidentally had a glimpse of a photograph – an old one – a girl of sixteen or seventeen, very pretty."

"That's strange." Lupin said, rubbing his chin. "As far as I know, he has no family… no friends… unless… what did she look like?"

"She was very good-looking," Celena recalled. "Dark red hair and green eyes. And there was a brooch pinned on the front of her robes," she remembered, "shaped like a flower…"

Lupin considered this for a moment, then sighed.

"Strictly speaking, we shouldn't be talking about this," he said. "This is pure gossip. But if I tell you, it will help you understand."

"What, Uncle?" she asked eagerly.

"That girl," said Remus Lupin, "was Lily Evans – who later became Lily Potter."

For a moment, Celena thought she had misheard him.

"Wh-what? Lily Potter? Not – not the one who –"

"That's right," Lupin nodded, "Lily, wife of James Potter and mother of Harry."

"Does that mean… did they ever…"

"He was… well, it was more than a schoolboy infatuation on his part. He loved her. He hungered and thirsted for her ever since they were children. He didn't stand a chance, of course. Lily was pretty and very popular, a top student, always surrounded by friends. She and Severus used to be friends, I'll bet you could never have guessed that. But his obsession with the Dark Arts and his contempt for Muggle-borns, either true or feigned for his Death Eater friends, I do not know – drew her away. Oh, he attempted to hide his feelings well enough. He was never nice to Lily. He used to call her _Mudblood_…"

"Disgusting," interjected Celena, revolted.

"But he couldn't have possibly meant it, you see, I figured out at some point. He was half-blood himself, and never attempted to hide it. And he loathed James… well, they were never exactly fond of each other, but it developed into pure hatred in our seventh year, when James and Lily started going out. Sometimes I noticed Severus look at Lily with an expression quite different from his usual self. And just then, in our seventh year, I saw him slipping a Valentine's Day card into Lily's bag, and then I knew for sure. Lily assumed the card was from James. I knew Severus wasn't really hopeful. But I also know he didn't stop loving Lily even after she married James. He knew Lily was in the Order, and wanted to protect her."

"Snape was supporting You-Know-Who at the time, wasn't he?" asked Celena.

"Yes. And I suppose – I have no other explanation – that he knew of Voldemort's plan to murder Lily's little son. I cannot know for sure, but I am almost certain he begged Voldemort to leave the Potters alone – or," Lupin shuddered, "to leave just her, to spare Lily. I don't think he cared about James. I'm not sure about Harry. Harry was her son, but also James's. And he looks so much like James – but he has her eyes, and much of her spirit, I believe. Snape was horrible to Harry at school. It was almost like seeing him and James again."

"So – you think he asked You-Know-Who not to hurt Lily Potter?"

"As I said, I am almost certain it was so. But I think he knew, even as he asked, that Voldemort wouldn't care how many lives are cast aside as long as he ensures his power. And then…"

"Snape switched sides?" Celena prompted.

"Yes. He turned to spy for us. He did all he could, but that didn't prevent – well, how could it? Voldemort was determined to kill Harry, and he was ready to murder anyone who stood in the way. That was what he did to James and Lily."

"Hold on, Uncle," something suddenly clicked in Celena's brain. "That was the reason Albus Dumbledore trusted Snape so much, wasn't it? He was sure Snape was on the right side because Voldemort killed the woman he loved… and he trusted that love was deep enough to ensure Snape would never go back to working for Voldemort!"

"That must have been it. I always thought that must have been why he trusted Snape, a Death Eater turncloak. But Dumbledore refused to talk about it. He took this secret with him to his grave."

"And I thought Snape wanted to attack me." Celena said slowly. "Back then, in the Forest. I suppose I owe him an apology, even though he was always horrible to me."

Two nights yielded two more attacks. Professor McGonagall invited the gargoyle clan to hibernate in Hogwarts castle at daytime and patrol the Forest at night. Considering how vulnerable the gargoyles were during daylight hours, it was a prudent measure. It would have been only too easy to shatter or kidnap one of them.

They were given a wide terrace and a secluded wing for their private use, but ear-splitting roars could still be heard every time they awoke from hibernation.

"Someone is trying to get into Hogwarts," Korian said to Celena. His arms wa almost back to normal now, only a little stiff. "Goliath has prohibited hatchlings to go anywhere near the forest alone; and he told my sister she had better stay here, too, because we think she is going to lay another egg. He patrolled with the centaurs last night, and didn't see the bastard, but some of them got curses aimed at them again. Whoever it was, he retired faster this time – must have realized that he doesn't stand a chance against Goliath and all the centaurs. Goliath was burned, though. We had to force him to stay off duty tonight. My sister is raving mad."

Sure enough, when they approached the dark terrace, they heard someone sobbing.

"You will not go anywhere! Anywhere! Not tonight! Not after what happened last night! I cannot lose you. I already did once, and I cannot stand it to happen again, even though I didn't deserve to have you back in the first place."

"Stop it, my heart." They heard a tired but soothing voice. "You are my wife, and there could never be another. No point in beating yourself up over past mistakes… oh, come around, my love… look up and say something…"

But all they heard was heart-wrenching sobs. They sounded muffled, as though Demona was crying into someone's enormous shoulder.

"Korian," Celena said quietly once they shuffled away, "why is she so upset? I mean, I understand Goliath was hurt, but it sounds as though there's something else…"

"She – well, she reckons the attackers might be some… some of her… old allies."

Korian looked uncomfortable.

"Old allies? What do you mean? Does that mean she used to be in league with the Death Eaters? With You-Know-Who?"

"Oh, never one of them, no. My sister was never fond of humans, whoever they were, Muggle or wizard, and the whole pure-blood issue is meaningless to her. But magic was a powerful attraction. She wanted to learn magic. She wanted to carry a wand. She felt she could become a witch. And Voldemort's supporters promised her all that, hoping to win her, and other gargoyles, to their cause. She learned quite a bit of powerful magic. Now, Goliath was always against that, said magic and our kind just don't go together… so Demona left us, but didn't join the Death Eaters either, not quite. She spent many lonely years and did some… some very regrettable things. But you shouldn't think too harshly of her," he hastened to add, "her own behavior punished her enough. Another traitor, a gargoyle, her former ally… he…"

Korian struggled, looking for words. Celena noticed a muscle twitching in his jaw. She laid a gentle hand on the smooth sinewy azure arm.

"He… hurt her?" She asked delicately.

"Terribly. She was a wreck. And she felt so guilty for everything that had happened. We hadn't seen her for years and she and Goliath were, as you can imagine, on very bad terms. But when we found her, hurt and ill, he… I wish I could describe his pain, or how he sought revenge for her. I knew then it was only a matter of time before they got back together. I'm glad it happened. I think she wanted to return for years but was too proud to admit she was wrong."

So, Celena thought. She is surrounded by reformed Voldemort supporters; both of those she knows about are afraid their former allies might be a threat to them. Why?

Over the next few days she didn't get any new information. Nothing was published in the Daily Prophet, yet Celena had a vague feeling that was not because nothing was going on. Hogsmeade was not so full of visitors anymore. Students were prohibited to leave the castle after it was dark. She heard from her parents in Diagon Alley that they, too, closed they shop at dusk due to a Ministry warning.

However, classes were held as usual; she still had to prepare her lessons, check mountains of homework and even give another remedial Potions lesson to Dennis Creevey, who kept knocking his cauldron over more often than usual.

And she still had an apology to make to Professor Snape, her least favorite staff member, including Argus Filch, the spiteful caretaker. She didn't exchange a word with Snape at all since that night when they patrolled the Forest. She couldn't say she felt she's missing out on much, since his words, when directed at her, were so often mockery or snide remarks, yet she still felt it would be fair to acknowledge her mistake.

So, one Monday evening, she braced herself, picked up the latest box of cookies she got from home, descended many flights of stairs to the dungeon corridor, which led to the Potions classroom and Slytherin common room, and knocked on Professor Snape's office door.

"Come in!" She heard his dry, cool voice.

She stepped in, holding the box of cookies in front of her. Snape was at his desk, writing something.

"Professor Costello." He gave a curt nod. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Celena waited for an invitation to sit down. When that didn't come, she plunged in:

"I made a mistake, Professor Snape, and would like to offer my apologies."

He looked up at her, his lips twisting in what could have been a smile, but not quite.

"Don't tell me you've had sleepless nights over that incident in the Forest."

"It was not fair of me," Celena continued bravely, "I thought you had wanted to hurt me, even though I had no reason to suspect you of something like that."

There was a long moment of silence.

"You knew about my past." Snape said, rubbing his left forearm absent-mindedly.

"Yes, however, I knew older and wiser wizards than myself have chosen to fully trust you, and that you are a member of the Order. That ought to have been enough for me."

Celena decided it would be wiser not to mention her conversation with her uncle about Snape and Lily Potter.

There was another pause. Finally, Snape said:

"What do you have in that box?"

"Oh," Celena became aware that she was still holding the box, and placed it on Snape's desk. "Those are gingerbread cookies my mother sent me. A special recipe. I thought you'd like them to have tea with."

Something ran across Snape's thin lips again, and this time it was almost like a human smile.

He opened his mouth to say something, but Celena never found out whether he was about to offer her some tea (which, she later acknowledged, must have been too much to hope for) because at that very moment Professor McGonagall broke in without knocking, flustered, her glasses askew, a scroll of parchment in her hands. She stopped, breathing heavily and clutching her chest.

"What happened, Minerva?" Snape asked.

"Everything." McGonagall said, panting, "Everything happened, Severus. Rufus Scrimgeour is dead."

"Dead? The Minister of Magic?" Celena broke in. But what? Why? Rufus Scrimgeour was not an old man…

"Murdered. The Avada Kedavra curse. Was found in his place of residence an hour ago. No traces – I just received an emergency owl from the Ministry."

Celena clutched the desk to steady herself. Snape, on the other hand, looked perfectly calm.

"Ah, the panic this will cause tomorrow morning," he said. "Does it have to be announced immediately?"

"I'm afraid we have no choice, Severus. But that isn't all… perhaps it's not even the worst part. Professor Costello, I ask you to be discreet about what I'm going to tell now."

… What could possibly be worse? Celena waited with baited breath.

"Merlin's wand is gone, Severus."

Celena sank into an old, stiff chair, unable to speak.

"The Minister… and Merlin's wand… who could?" she managed to squeeze out finally.

Merlin's wand was extremely powerful, and was kept in the safest depths of the Ministry of Magic. Only a very powerful, determined, evil wizard – or wizards – could commit tonight's theft and murder. It was clear both events were linked.

"And it is not like we haven't been warned," Professor McGonagall regained control and was now her usual brisk and reserved self, only still very white. "Bulgarian Ministry workers have gone missing a couple of weeks ago. Giants are leaving their mountains and moving. No, something has been definitely going on these past weeks, Severus, and I'm afraid we have waited too long to react."

Celena looked at Snape. His jaw was set, his mouth twisted, his glinting black eyes narrowed. He was not any more likeable than ever, yet Celena somehow understood why he was the first person Professor McGonagall sought. She probably would have done the same herself, she thought, surprised at her own strange resolution.

_A/N: This was written before HBP and DH came out, so at this point everything related to Snape's love for Lily was entirely my own deduction. The thought was planted in my mind after the scene of Lily trying to defend Snape from James in OotP, and I was very tickled to find out eventually how I got things almost exactly right, up to the detail of Snape attempting to convince Voldemort to spare only Lily. I also predicted other details, such as the involvement of a powerful wand and the murder of Rufus Scrimgeour (the last I added after HBP). _


	18. A stroll with Firenze

Over the next few weeks, the news Celena heard, which have shocked her deeply, caused much less turmoil than she had expected. What happened to Rufus Scrimgeour wasn't described as murder in the Daily Prophet, but rather as "a sudden death due to a heart attack". There was no mention of the disappearance of Merlin's wand, either. Celena could only imagine how much effort it cost the Ministry to hush it all up. Were they right by doing so? She wasn't sure, but she could certainly understand their wish to avoid panic… the same happened when Voldemort was restored to power, she recalled.

Nevertheless, it was easy to tell the spirits were not exactly quiet. Hundreds of worried parents sent owls, which Professor McGonagall sent off again, bearing her short, reassuring notes. A special Ministry squad was attached to Hogwarts, to ensure an extra measure of safety.

Celena went by, prepared her classes and tried to remain calm and work as usual. Professor McGonagall let out such important information in her presence, that she felt this was somewhat akin to letting her get closer to the Order, but she told nothing more since. Her uncle's replies to her letters were evasive, took a long time to reach her, and were written on crumpled scraps of parchment, as if he were someplace with no writing desk and very little time to write – which he probably was. Celena had no idea where that could be.

Often, she didn't see Professor McGonagall, Snape or Hagrid, or all of them, during meals, and even more often they appeared at breakfast puffy-eyed and unfocused from lack of sleep. Celena tried asking Hagrid what he was up to, but the answer she got was:

"Bes' yeh know nothin', Celena," and a huge yawn.

One weekend, she and Fleur met in Hogsmeade, and Celena learned that Fleur's husband, Bill, also had his share of mysterious disappearances somewhere, possibly to the Order's Headquarters. He didn't let his wife in on the secret either, because, as he said, he was certain that the less she knew, the safer she would be.

"C'est impossible, ma cherie," said Fleur, shaking her magnificent head. "I want to 'elp 'im, but 'e doesn't let me… and you? 'Ave you 'eard from Charlie since..?"

"Fleur," Celena couldn't suppress a laugh," you didn't think he would ask me out, did you? It was not a real date, you just – well, you just set us up so that nobody would think I'm desperate because of Timothy…"

"Why wouldn't Charlie want to see you?" demanded Fleur, looking offended. "You are much better-looking, and more interesting than 'im! And don't tell me you aren't seeing anyone because you _are_ desperate for Timothy! 'E got married, you know."

"Did he, now?" Celena raised her eyebrows slightly. "Another glass of Gillywater, please, Rosmerta."

They were sitting at the gleaming, warm bar of The Three Broomsticks, naturally attracting many interested glances as two young, extremely pretty and well-dressed witches sitting on their own. With a nod of thanks, Celena took her Gillywater from Madam Rosmerta and stirred it with her cocktail stick.

Fleur eyed her suspiciously.

"No reason to worry about me, Fleur," Celena said. "Really. I was hurt at first, when I first heard about his engagement; but it's over now and I'm glad I didn't marry him after all."

"That's all fine and well," said Fleur, "and I 'ave always said you are more than 'e deserves! But why aren't you seeing someone new?"

"Where would I meet someone new, when I spend my days and nights at Hogwarts?" Celena laughed airily, "who do you suggest I should go out with, Mr. Filch?"

… Her students were restless too, the tension of the atmosphere at Hogwarts passing into their trembling hands, which spilled potions, scorched desks, mis-measured ingredients and set robes on fire. A first-year boy managed to melt his cauldron, a third-year caused a small explosion which left scorch mark on the ceiling and walls, and most of the seventh-years proved hardly able to scrap a simple, OWL-level solution. The number of students who had to visit the hospital wing because of burns or spilled potion reached an all-time record, her O.W.L class fell asleep after inhaling fumes of an overripe Sleeping Draught, and Dennis Creevey topped it all off by spraying Martin Nordholm with nearly ready Predictability Potion, poking Melissa Hanson in the eye with his wand and upturning Celena's desk – all during one lesson.

After Martin went off to the hospital wing to remove the feathers that have sprouted out of his ears, walking in the most dignified way he could amidst gales of laughter, Celena tapped her desk impatiently.

"That's enough. Back to work, everyone. Dennis, I see that you haven't added the powdered scarab wings."

"How do you know, Professor?" Dennis looked embarrassed.

"Your solution was supposed to turn clear bottle-green by now, yet it still looks – and smells – more like mustard than anything else. And I must remind you, Mr. Creevey, that this solution is very likely to come up at your N.E.W.T exam next year. But don't worry, we'll practice it again," she added with an encouraging nod, not wanting to sound too Snape-ish.

That night in her office, in the calm evening atmosphere, with an old clock ticking peacefully behind him, Dennis's performance was much more to Celena's satisfaction. She looked at his work contentedly.

"I understand you find it difficult to concentrate, Dennis, with all that is going on," she sighed. "You are not the only one who is affected. But do try and breathe deeply before you start mixing a potion, will you? And perhaps something for the nerves? Some herb tea?"

"I'm sorry, Professor Costello," he said, "I am trying, but… I'm bombarded with owls from home, my parents suggesting I might come home and try to do complete this year's schoolwork by correspondence. And not being allowed out of the castle after dark – this leaves little time for Qudditch practice. And those – those creepy lizard men all around the grounds. Yes, I know they are supposed to be on our side," he hastened to add, "but it's hard to get used to them…"

"Don't tell me you are upset by the gargoyles being here," Celena frowned. She already forgot her reaction when she first saw Goliath. "And they are not creepy. They are brave and quiet friendly… well, most of them are," she truthfully corrected herself, remembering Demona's hissing and spitting. "And they aren't as uncivilized as they look…"

At that very moment, her unlocked window flew open and Korian, dressed only in a loincloth, came sliding onto the floor, raising his right hand in greeting. He has clearly just finished chewing on something fresh and bloody, because his teeth were red when he opened his mouth and spoke:

"Evening, Celena. Need to have a word with you."

"Hello, Kor," she said. She was already used to Korian by now; he was friendly, even gallant, and by far the most civilized of the gargoyle clan, but Dennis watched with a shudder how the gargoyle flexed his sharp claws and picked out bits of stone that were stuck underneath his talons. "What is it? You may go, Dennis."

… "And then he just – just came in through the window, without so much as a warning!" Dennis was telling Martin and Melissa in the Gryffindor common room later that night. Martin already had the feathers removed from his ears, was feeling perfectly normal and almost finished writing his Charms essay when Dennis returned.

"Was it the blue, red-haired one?" Melissa asked. "He's not that frightening, he's one of those Professor McGonagall invited to Christmas dinner, right? Do you remember the largest of them, though? Not that I think he would actually hurt one of us, but… wouldn't want to be on bad terms with him, would you?"

"Neither would I want to be on bad terms with Hagrid," said Martin reasonably, rolling up his essay. "Say, mate," he turned to Dennis, "how many times are you ready to make a fool of yourself during class just so you can get some more private lessons from _Celena_?"

He carefully dodged the heavy Transfiguration book Dennis aimed at him.

"…Firenze is waiting downstairs," said Korian to Celena. "You will find him just out the door of the Entrance Hall. He said he wishes to speak with you about something important. If you want to, you can grab my neck and I'll carry you down on my back, it will be much quicker –"

"Ah, no, Kor, thank you," Celena hastened to reply, wrapping her cloak around her shoulders. "You go and tell him I'll be right there with him in a few moments. Did he tell you what he wants?"

"No idea," said Korian, shrugging. "You know how those centaurs are. Never give you a clear idea of what they have in mind."

And in a swish of wings and tail, he was gone.

Firenze, the centaur, was as amazingly graceful as she remembered from the last time she saw him. He shook her hand solemnly. It was very quiet out in the grounds as they started walking together – it was dark, and students were not allowed to be outside their common rooms.

"How can I help you, Firenze?" asked Celena.

He gave the tiniest of smiles, barely visible under his young, neatly trimmed blond beard.

"Walk with me," he said, and started striding off into the grounds. Celena hurried to keep up with his pace. At first, they followed the track that led to Hagrid's cabin, but soon, Firenze strayed off to the left. Celena felt a growing sense of puzzlement. Was Firenze leading her to the Forbidden Forest? But no, it seemed as though he just wanted to find a spot where they wouldn't be disturbed. He looked here and there, to make sure they were completely alone, then stopped midway between the greenhouses and the Quidditch pitch. An owl hooted somewhere at distance. Otherwise, it was a still, windless, rainless night. Firenze turned and faced Celena, his sparkling eyes like a pair of dazzling, unearthly beautiful sapphires.

"Celena Costello," he said, "do you know why I asked you to come with me tonight?"

"I assumed you would tell me." Celena said briskly. She liked and even admired Firenze, and he was easily the friendliest of the centaurs, but sometimes his mysterious, lofty manner annoyed her, especially on a cold night she could be spending in her warm office in front of the fire, checking essays or reading a book.

"I assume you know what is going on in the wizarding world at these dark days?" He asked. Celena looked up in surprise. Thoughts of today and now were unusual for a centaur, in fact, she'd say they were considered almost a frivolity. Normally, these future-tellers spoke about signs, lofty and unclear predictions, and the movement of stars.

"A lot is going on," Celena finally said, "but I only know some of it. The Minister of Magic was murdered, and Merlin's wand was stolen – something very sinister is going on. But of course you know that already. It does sound bad. Very bad. How would I know anything definite, though? I'm not even in the Order."

"The stars have spoken," Firenze continued, almost dreamily, as though he didn't hear her. There we go, Celena thought. "And they warn of another battle between wrong and right, good and evil, white and black, another bloody battle like the recent one and the one fought twenty years ago. Lord Voldemort," Celena shuddered, "is gone, but his seed still walks upon this earth."

"So it is true?" Celena clasped a hand to her mouth. "He – He Who Must Not Be Named actually had a son?"

"He planted his seed in a fruitful soil of ambitious evil," Firenze continued, "yet the strength of the son does not match the strength of the father. It can grow, but it doesn't have to happen. It won't happen if all creatures who can think and fight for the good will unite against him, jinx and spell, bow and arrow, tooth and wing and claw. Humans and centaurs, gargoyles and goblins, merpeople… and others."

He now looked pointedly at Celena. She knew he knows, from the very first time he saw her.

"Others," she said slowly. "You mean others like me… and my friend Fleur? But I'm just a witch for all it matters. All I'm good at is brewing potions – not to say that it cannot be useful, of course, but –"

"It's not about what you can do," Firenze said softly, "it's about what you can _hear_. Be silent and listen now, Celena Costello."

And for a long time, he said no more.

Yes, she does hear them, Celena thought. Especially now, when they are so close to the Forest. But she only hears whispers, she cannot make out the words – and even if she could, what use would it be?

"I cannot hear them," said Firenze, breaking the long silence, "but I know you can. Tell me, what do you hear, Celena Costello?"

"Um… nothing special," Celena shrugged, "they just… whisper softly to each other…"

"Think carefully," Firenze laid a hand on her shoulder. "Think and listen again."

Celena closed her eyes, so that the sounds and smells can better penetrate her brain. She strained herself, emptying her mind of thought and sharpening her senses.

"They… they sound anxious. Almost… almost agitated. It sounds as though they are passing news to one another. Important news."

"Good," Firenze nodded in approval.

"But Firenze, if you want to me to hear better, perhaps we should step closer?"

"Not tonight," he shook his beautiful head, "but soon. However, you will have to do much more than just listen and understand. You will speak to them."

"Speak?" Celena gaped at him. "Why do you think I can do that? I never learned how. I – my mother never possessed this gift… it passed to me, but only partly…"

"I know it is within you." He smiled reassuringly." Wait for the call each night, and be ready. Very soon, you will know that night is the night. And then come. Come without fear or hesitation."

And having said that, the centaur turned around and started striding off majestically towards the dark, unwelcoming, mysterious Forbidden Forest.

"Firenze! Wait!" Celena called out, "Who will call me? Will that be you?"

Briefly, Firenze glanced back at her and threw across his shoulder:

"You will know, and you will come."


	19. Into the forest

Celena listened attentively every night, straining her ears and her mind, yet she often wondered whether she is ever going to hear anything. Sometimes it seemed as though she could almost catch a word, a thought, a message – but somehow, it always slipped away at the last moment. She didn't lose hope, though. If Firenze seemed it is important enough to let her know, it is only a matter of time before faint whisperings become clear words. She anticipated this with excitement, but also with fear.

For the first time in her life, she avoided talking to Fleur. The two of them were always closer, thanks to their spirit, upbringing, character and family background, yet now Celena dreaded communicating with her, out of fear that her friend will read straight into her thoughts. She believed she ought to keep her meeting with Firenze a secret. One of those evenings, however, something happened – something Celena felt she simply had to report to Fleur immediately, or else Fleur would take revenge in the most brutal form.

She was sitting peacefully by the fire in her office, going through some fourth-year essays about methods of preservation of potion ingredients, and sipping tea while marking this or that essay with red ink.

There was a knock on her door.

Dennis Creevey? But it wasn't Monday night, she thought. Dennis had Remedial Potions only yesterday. Right now, he is probably on his way back from Quidditch training. However, she got up quickly and approached the door. She could perhaps expect Professor McGonagall, who would want to tell her something urgent, but what would it be? Or the grumpy caretaker, Argus Filch, who sometimes checked this or that office or classroom to make sure the house elves were doing their job properly. She opened the door, and unable to restrain herself, exclaimed:

"Timothy!"

It has been a while since she last saw her ex-fiancé. He stood there in front of her, handsome as always, in his elegant, expensive robes, his wand tucked nonchalantly behind his belt.

"Good evening, Celena," she noticed that his voice sounded hollow and tired, "they let me in because I said I was your old friend."

Celena had to fight the urge to let out a snort. Old friend? What was he doing in her office at night?

"Well, come in, then," she said, stepping back. She had to work hard to keep a muscle in her jaw from twitching. "I was just about to head off to bed early, but if you have anything to say, spill it out, will you?"

Timothy hastened to accept the grudging invitation and closed the door behind him. She found this unpleasant for some reason. However, she hadn't changed into her dressing gown yet – she was wearing a new set of robes, and her hair was sleek and shiny, pulled back in an elegant bun. This gave her confidence.

"How is your wife?" she asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

"Oh, fine," he replied, then lowered his voice to a whisper, "but I… Celena, I'm afraid I've been a fool." He made a dramatic pause. "Yes, yes, I know – what right do I even have to – but just listen to me for a moment. Alexa's father…"

"Is a sackful of Galleons, isn't he?" Celena interrupted, having an increasingly harder time to keep bitterness out of her voice, and to keep her hands from shaking.

"Have you been seeing a lot of Charlie Weasley lately?" Timothy suddenly asked.

Aha, Celena thought. Fleur's little plan! She had realized that Timothy hadn't changed much – same old Timothy Whitechapple, handsome, elegant, well-mannered, well-bred, charming… she wondered how she could ever think they had something in common.

"Let us get this straight," she began, dropping pretence of patience and calm. "You propose to me time and time again, until I finally say yes – and when I accept, you chicken out and stop writing to me, and then, without even bothering to let me know, you get engaged to that Douglas woman. Without wasting time, you marry her and secure your position with Britain's most important cauldron makers. And after all that," her voice rose, "you dare to come here and inquire who I've been seeing?"

"Just listen!" He broke out, raising his voice too. "You have never been in such situations, have you? The temptation – Alexa has a horrible character, but can be charming. Her father applied every ounce of pressure. I didn't know what to do!"

"Well, I can certainly tell you what to do now!" Celena shouted. "Just get out of my office, and from now on, stay away from me, got it?"

Unabashed, Timothy got hold of her hand, which she was trying to wrench free when she head a knock on the office door. Someone obviously followed the sounds of their loud conversation in the quiet castle.

"Don't answer," Timothy whispered, panting, "just give me five minutes, and I swear I will make you understand…"

"Come in!" Celena said in a ringing voice, finally pulling her hand from Timothy's grasp.

In the door frame, she saw the billowing black robes, hooked noice and glittering black eyes of Severus Snape. He had his wand out and ready.

"Excuse me," he said, lowering his wand and eyeing them. Celena tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her chest heaving, and Timothy took one step away from her. "I heard noises, and with all that has been going on lately, thought I must check what is going on. Is this man your guest, Professor Costello?"

"Yes," said Timothy, glaring at Snape.

"No," Celena said, "the gentleman was just about to leave."

"I was not – Celena –"

"You certainly were, Mr. Whitechapple –"

"Look, can you leave us alone?" Timothy turned on Snape rather rudely. "Don't you see that's a private –"

That was a bad move. Snape's lip curled.

"I don't know who you are, but you are not a student in this school, or a staff member, and it seems you are not even welcome here. Shall I escort you downstairs?"

"Kindly do that, Professor Snape," Celena nodded, her cheeks burning. Right now, all she wanted was to be rid of them both.

"No need to," Timothy said resentfully, turned on his heels, threw Celena one more nasty glance, and left.

When Timothy's steps receded and Celena's breathing slowed down a bit, she became aware of the fact that she was one on one with Snape – who, despite their current truce, was not someone whose company she craved – and he was looking at her with something like curiousity.

"Mr. Whitechapple, wasn't it?" he asked. "I saw his picture in the Daily Prophet the other day – he was your –"

"My ex-fiancé," Celena said quickly, not wanting to endure any remarks from Snape. "Now married to Alexa Douglas."

"Douglas? Not the daughter of the famous cauldron-maker? I met him once – well, Mr. Whitechapple must be quite miserable now."

Yes, Timothy did look and sound quite miserable, Celena thought – otherwise he wouldn't have come, right? But Snape… what was Snape doing there anyway? His office was far below, and she found it hard to believe he was just taking a stroll.

"Professor Snape," she started politely, "how come did you happen to be here?"

"I'm here on request by Professor McGonagall, who has a message for you," he said, "take your cloak, Professor Costello. I'm going to escort you downstairs and into the grounds – these days, it is unadvisable to be walking alone at night."

"Into the grounds? Now?" Celena cast a look at the clock that was perched precariously on top of a pile of students' files on her desk. It was eleven o'clock in the evening.

"Our fellow Firenze thinks that tonight is the night."

A shiver ran down Celena's spine as she reached out for her cloak.

"Is Firenze waiting for me, then?" Celena asked while they descended. The night wasn't very cold, but she wrapped her cloak tightly around her all the same.

"No," said Snape very slowly, "He said you should go into the Forest alone. He said he doesn't wish to disturb your – ah – _vibes_."

"But I don't _feel_ any vibes," Celena said, irritated. Snape was the last person with whom she felt like discussing this. "And I don't like the idea of a moonlit stroll in the Forbidden Forest, all on my own."

"I could wait for you nearby with my wand out, Professor Costello. Only I don't wish to interrupt your pleasant chat with the dryads…"

Celena stopped in her tracks. Then she turned around, facing hook-nosed, smirking Snape. She opened her mouth and closed it again.

"Don't tell me you thought I didn't know," he raised an eyebrow.

Celena flushed, then became pale.

"Since when have you known?"

"Oh, it wasn't that hard to guess – not for those who can put two and two together," he said with a maddening air of superiority, "I first thought about it when I saw you with twigs and leaves sticking from behind your ears when you were on your way to the hospital wing. Then I saw you talking to that Bowtruckle and was sure. Oh, no need to look so indignant, Professor Costello. I understand why you don't parade being part-human, but at least you are not half-giant, or vampire, or werewolf," his lip curled again, "or half-gargoyle."

"There is no such thing as half-gargoyle," Celena snapped. "I don't care if you tell what I am. I have nothing to be ashamed of. This – this is just a little awkward –"

They walked through the grounds in silence. It was a dark and windy night, and Celena was glad she took her cloak. When they approached the forest, Celena thought she saw a shadow and a suspicious rustle somewhere among the trees. She shivered.

"Probably one of your winged and taloned friends," Snape said coolly. He had his wand out now, and it was casting a sliver of white light on the pathway in front of them. Celena thought she would much rather have had Hagrid with her, or Korian, or even Goliath with his massive arms and jaws, but nevertheless she was grateful that Snape didn't walk back towards the castle and didn't lower his wand. She wasn't entirely sure where she is supposed to go, so she just kept walking down narrow paths along the edge of the Forest, until they reached a small clearing. It was then that Celena heard something like a faint whisper.

"Yes?" she said quietly, stopping in her tracks. "Is it here?"


	20. Expecto Patronum

Celena stopped. Snape stopped too, a few steps behind her. And then – she looked back at Snape, who wore a look of astonishment she never saw on his haughty features before – a tall, slender woman stepped right out of the trunk of a willow; it seemed as though she had detached herself from the tree. Her long wavy hair was green, and her skin had a greenish tinge as well. She was glowing faintly in the dark shadows. Celena had never saw such a woman before, but knew, of course, who she must be – a dryad, a mysterious tree-nymph. Her mother's mother was one, though how exactly it came to be that a dryad fell for a human remained a family secret her grandmother did not see fit to share. She disappeared shortly after Romina's birth and they only saw her once in a long while.

The dryad looked at Celena and gave her a gracious smile.

"Welcome, half sister," she said, ignoring Snape as though he weren't there at all. "I'm glad you heard our call tonight."

Her voice sounded on and off at first, but soon Celena felt herself open up to the unearthly vibes of the Forest. One look at Snape was sufficient to tell her that he could hear nothing but the rustling of leaves.

"I – this is new to me – never before –" Celena mumbled, and as she spoke, she realized that no words have left her mouth – Just a faint rustle, like the one she thought she heard at first. It seemed to her that several of the trees nodded, and all of a sudden the Forbidden Forest did not seem so dark and unwelcoming anymore. The dryad made an approving gesture.

"The likes of you, half-sister," she said, "are the link that will serve to connect our forest folk and humans, so we can join our forces during these dangerous times."

"Does it mean… whatever is going on lately?" Celena asked hopefully.

"We know what has been happening, half-sister. We aren't foolish enough to hope we can easily banish the evil. We are approaching, again, times of darkness and danger, even though it is still not as bad as it was in the past – yet. There are things we can do. Stand united, all of us, humans and centaurs, gargoyles and goblins, elves and us, the Forest Folk. Deal with what is troubling us directly, such as the attacks here in the Forest."

"The attacks on the gargoyles? You mean you know who has been causing them?" Celena whispered.

"Aren't you guessing what is lurking in the dark, half-sister? Remnants of the old Dark Army – werewolves, vampires, scattered bitter wonderers, too deeply immersed in Dark Magic to correct their ways, even after the downfall of the Dark Lord."

"Are you definitely on our side, then?" asked Celena. "Can we count on you if it comes to battle?"

"We will have a council," said the dryad, "with our elders. And then we will see you, half-sister, with your human leaders. If we pledge allegiance, it must be mutual. Now go back to the castle and carry our message. Tarry not."

Having said this, the dryad disappeared without as much as a nod of goodbye. The Forest looked darker once more.

Not saying another word to each other, Celena and Snape headed back. They walked quickly, and it seemed as though the night around them was getting colder and colder, and unexpectedly, even darker, even though they were now closer to the edge of the Forest where the faint moon shone. It's getting cloudy, just cloudy, that's all, Celena told herself desperately, but then there was a rustle – a sickening, slithering rustle, and Celena felt the waft of something rotten and cold, colder than ice, colder than death. Her brain was becoming clogged with desperate images she was trying to shake off. The death of her uncle Roberto, her fight with Fleur in their fourth year, when it looked as though they would never speak again, her stay in St. Mungo's as a child when she acquired a severe form of dragon pox and it looked as though she was going to die…

"Oh my goodness," she gasped, "Dementors! Here!"

Snape was very white, his eyes wide and his face covered with sweat. When he spoke, however, his voice was steady:

"There's more than one, I can feel it – I don't know how many."

The horrible, hooded creatures, sucking all trace of happiness and hope out of the air, were already gliding from behind the nearest clusters of thorny bushes, so close that they could hear their terrible, rattling breath.

"Stand with your back to mine, Professor Costello, and raise your wand!"

Her back pressed against Snape's, Celena held her wand up in a trembling hand and attempted to think of something happy. "Costello Concoctions", she recalled, doing her best to remember all the wonderful times she had there with her parents, and Fleur, and the Weasley twins – I'll go back there, I will visit Mom and Dad soon…

The Dementors were approaching, closing their circle around them. There were no less than five or six of them.

"On the count of three," whispered Snape, "one… two… now! EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

"Expecto Patronum!" echoed Celena.

A huge silver bird soared out of the tip of Celena's wand; a large, silver animal which Celena recognized as a panther was already softly circling them, warding the dementors off. The huge bird rushed to its aid, and as she stood there, Celena couldn't help but wonder what happy thought there could be in the gloomy man standing beside her, that produced such a bright, strong Patronus.

The panther encircled them one last time and vanished. Celena's Patronus, too, melted into thin air. Panting as though he'd run a mile, Snape leaned against a tree trunk and wiped his sweaty brow. He looked even paler than usual.

"We should hurry up and get away from here," said Celena, "Hagrid's hut is nearest. But first," she flicked her wand and conjured a slightly squashed box, "we must have some chocolate, or my feet won't carry me."

Snape attempted to shrug her off, but Celena insisted, seeing how pale and clammy he looked:

"Oh no, you must, Professor Snape. You look terrible. Go ahead, it's excellent Honeydukes chocolate, I summoned it from my office."

Both helped themselves to some chocolate. Instantly, Celena felt warmer and more comfortable.

"Your Patronus is an eagle," remarked Snape. "You would have done well in Ravenclaw."

"I did well in Beauxbatons," replied Celena, bravely attempting to smile.

A couple of minutes later, they were already in Hagrid's house, casting off their ripped and dirty cloaks, and Celena was telling:

"Dementors, Hagrid. Please, can you pour us a drink?"

"Merlin's beard," muttered Hagrid, as he poured them generous portions of hot, strong, peppery firewhisky into his bucket-sized mugs. Celena took a sip and felt her eyes water – she normally didn't drink anything this strong. Hagrid drained his glass in one mighty gulp and Snape had hardly touched his. He still looked horrible, and somehow, much more human than usual. But then again, Celena reminded herself as she looked at the deep scars on his neck, his worst memories must be something she would shudder to hear…

Some minutes later, the three of them walked out of Hagrid's cabin, and Hagrid parted from them to have a word with Goliath. Celena continued walking with Snape, through the cold, damp night of early spring.

"Lumos," said Snape, lighting the way ahead. "Better have some light on a night like this."

Celena shuddered.

"Where do you think they came from? Please, let's take this route by the greenhouses, it might be longer but it feels safer somehow…"

"Who knows? Dementors stopped being our allies even before the Second War. I don't think even the Death Eaters can fully control them now."

"Horrible creatures," Celena muttered.

"To be frank, Professor Costello," Snape's lip curled, "I wonder how come you agreed to walk alone with me tonight, after knowing who I am – and you didn't point your wand at me even once for a change –"

"I made a mistake and apologized for it, didn't I, Professor Snape?" Celena countered. "And besides," she stopped, facing him, and the words were out of her mouth before she could stop them, "I know now why Albus Dumbledore had trusted you so – he could be sure you really switched to our side, because he knew you loved Lily Potter, and He Who Must Not Be Named murdered her –"

She clasped a hand to her mouth and looked at him in horror. She half expected to be jinxed then and there, but after a fleeting contortion of anger, Snape looked weary, the lines and shadows of his face more prominent than usual.

"Who told you this?" He asked. "No, wait. Lupin, who else?"

"Yes," Celena murmured, "Uncle Remus told me – well, I dragged it out of him, more like. That photograph I saw in your office –"

"I had loved Lily Evans," he said. The word "loved" came out hoarsely, as though he was thirsty. "Ever since we were children. We were best friends – until –"

"Until you called her _Mudblood_," Celena prompted, thinking with horror that she is standing in the middle of the dark school grounds and talking to a former Death Eater who has his wand out while hers is in the inner pocket of her robes. He didn't, however, look angry. It seemed he was beyond that.

"Grave mistake," he said quietly, "and foolish. I didn't even mean it – I'm half-blood myself," he added in an afterthought, "Lily never spoke to me again… but it doesn't matter now. I couldn't protect her – I had tried, and it turned out that I, with all the might of the Dark Arts I learned, could not ensure her safety. But I protected her son, as much as I loathed James Potter's features in him. I avenged Lily's death. He has her eyes. And he – Harry Potter – saved my life too in his turn."

"It was during the Second War, wasn't it?" Celena asked in a whisper. She forgot how cold and late it was, forgot about pulling out her wand, and just stood there, shivering from something that wasn't cold.

"Yes. The Dark Lord ordered my murder, even though he didn't guess I was not his man then – he didn't know until the very end. But it was part of his scheme to get perfect control of the Elder Wand – a scheme that did not work. Of certain types of magic, I must say, the Dark Lord knew very little. He walked away, not knowing I was still alive. I was on the verge of death. The Potter boy saved my life," with a long white finger, Snape traced the two deep scars in his neck.

"Why did you tell me all this?" Celena demanded. "It… it must have been… terrible," she ended in a hushed voice.

There was a pause. The grounds were very still and quiet. Only wind was rustling through the treetops of the distant Forbidden Forest.

"I thought it was all over," said Celena, very quietly.

"I thought so too," said Snape, "when the Dark Lord vanished for the first time."

For a moment, they just stood there, and Celena felt the hair on the back of her neck prickle as though someone touched her there with icy fingers, and then sure enough, real, strong, cold fingers were running through her hair, and a hard and hungry mouth parted her lips, and strong, lean arms were around her body, squeezing and crushing her; she thought fleetingly she ought to scream in protest, then realized that she is responding, hungrily, uncontrollably, giving in to the wave of emotion that swept over her; her knees buckled and she held on even tighter, feeling her heart beat violently in her throat.

And as soon as Snape's grip slackened, she ran towards the castle and didn't look back.


	21. The prisoner

In her office, Celena sat still for a long time, her hands on her temples, trying to soothe the beating of blood in her head. She went back and forth from fever to numbness, from terror to exhilaration, from utter shock to knowing, somehow, that this was supposed to happen. Eventually she went off to bed and sank into an uneasy, disturbed sleep, perturbed by many restless dreams. And just as she was about to drift off for the third time, she heard her window open with a creak and someone slid softly onto the floor.

She sprang up, clutching her wand, and saw the handsome blue-skinned face and ruby-red hair of Korian. He was smiling triumphantly.

"Kor," she said, panting, "just knock next time, alright? What on earth are you doing here at this hour?"

"Sorry," he said, grinning, "it's nearly dawn, but I just had to tell you. Look outside the window, will you?"

Celena scrambled out of bed and, shivering with cold, threw on a thick plush robe. She stepped up to the window. The chilly night air was still, but the tree tops in the Forest looked as though they were moving in a storm.

"Oh! - she exclaimed softly. Could it be..?"

"These tree people," said Korian, "very impressive. We were with them. Caught three werewolves, a vampire, and a man."

"Three werewolves and a vampire?" Celena repeated faintly.

"And a man."

"Who?"

"Not sure. Goliath got him.

Apparently, the nighttime visits were not meant to end with Korian's strolling in through the window. Just as Celena opened her mouth to say she didn't envy the captive who is now in Goliath's hands, whoever he is, there was a knock on her office door and when she opened, she saw the Headmistress in her tartan nightgown and slippers.

"Excellent – I see you already alerted Celena, Korian – come, Celena, don't bother getting dressed. To my office, both of you."

"Professor McGonagall, what..?"

"Come along, come along, I'll explain later."

The beautiful circular room that hosted many Headmasters and Headmistresses of Hogwarts was now, no doubt, at one of its weirdest moments.

When Professor McGonagall, Celena and Korian walked in, they were met by Snape (Celena buried her eyes in the carpet); Goliath, holding both arms of a small, pale, mousy man in one mighty hand; and Hagrid, his hand gripping the shoulder of a student –

"Hagrid," said Professor McGonagall, "let go of Mr. Creevey for now. No doubt, it's very grave, a student out of his common room at this hour – by all means, deal with Mr. Creevey later – but we have more important matters just now."

Dennis flinched as Hagrid marched him, a hand still on his shoulder, past Goliath. Dennis never quite got used to the gargoyles.

Since Celena didn't dare to look up, she didn't see the quiet and ironic triumph in Snape's eyes as he looked at the man Goliath had in his grip. But she did hear the barely contained glee in his voice as he spoke:

"McDonovan, old friend."

"Severus," the little man said grudgingly. He had small, watery, strangely pale eyes, devoid of expression. "The traitor. The double-crossing spy…"

Snape looked unabashed.

"I suppose you thought you would pay me a surprise visit?" he said, walking back and forth before McDonovan, "Prowling around Hogwarts grounds at night… well, well, well… we shall soon see what you were up to."

"You can let go of him now, Goliath," said Professor McGonagall, "we have his wand, and there is no way he can escape."

Goliath stepped back, and McDonovan rubbed his arms, which were numb because of Goliath's steely grip.

"Your war is lost," continued Snape, "your master is dead, your army is broken; why did you come?"

McDonovan let out an unpleasant chuckle.

"Our war lost?" he sneered, "Don't fool yourself, Severus. Just because the Dark Lord had the misfortune to confide some of his plans to you, it doesn't mean that you got the access to his most cherished, his most secret –"

"Go on, then, McDonovan," said Snape, with a look of grim satisfaction. "Why don't you spill out the story of your amazing achievements – I mean, apart from your attacks on our fellow lizard-men here, I think we all had a chance to witness the pathetic results –"

Celena looked up in alarm. Goliath and Korian looked indignant, but merely swished their tails. McDonovan, on the other hand, looked as though he would like nothing better than to throttle Snape bare-handed. Celena wondered how long he will be able to endure the provocation.

"We killed your Minister," said McDonovan, "we have Merlin's wand – He has the wand…"

McDonovan fell silent, and everyone in the room exchanged looks, wondering the same thing: had he given himself away and told more than he meant to, or was it a clever hoax meant for intimidation? Beads of sweat appeared on McDonovan's brow. The tension in the room was such that it seemed one could cut the air with a knife. There was no doubt concerning "his" identity – "he" could only mean –

"Oh, yes, McDonovan," Snape nodded calmly, "no need to stop now, we know it anyway – it's the Dark Lord's son."

"Yes, yes, the son!" McDonovan cried out, his eyes bulging wildly, "the son, more glorious than the father! Do with me what you will. He is safe, and he is ours. And he will rise and become more powerful than the father had ever been!"

There was a long silence.

"We will take him to the dungeons now, shall we, Headmistress? " asked Korian. "Unless you want to interrogate him now. It's nearly dawn, you see, and we must find a good place for hibernation."

"Yes – yes," said Professor McGonagall slowly and distractedly, sinking into her beautiful winged armchair and rubbing her temples,  
>"please do. And if you see Hagrid on the way, send him here. He will need to be filled in."<p>

When the two gargoyles trod off, each gripping one of McDonovan's arms, Celena looked outside the window. The sky was already turning pale grey; soon, it would be pierced by the first ray of sunlight, which she hoped would cast away some of her murky, gloomy thoughts.

"It's horrible," she murmured, "a _son_… but – do you think he is actually a – a – a human child?"

"That is certainly a good question," said Professor McGonagall, -"other interesting details are when and where was this son born - Snape, you were right in You Know Who's inner circle at one time, didn't he ever confide in you?"

"The Dark Lord," Snape raised an eyebrow. "Confide in anyone?"

"No – I suppose not, Severus, he should have known not to put all his eggs in one basket –"

"What about the woman?" asked Celena, avoiding Snape's eye and looking purposefully only at Professor McGonagall, "We suspect it was Bellatrix Lestrange, don't we? Was she ever seen – well – with child?"

"Sometimes, certain Death Eaters were gone for months on confidential missions, and Bellatrix disappeared a few times as well," said Snape. He, too, was not looking at Celena, but rather at the portrait of Albus Dumbledore, who was snoozing in his golden frame. "And even then, her pregnancy could have been concealed using a wise charm. It was certainly not beyond the capability of the Dark Lord."

Another pause fell, and after that, Professor McGonagall got to her feet, looking brisk and alert as usual despite a restless night.

"The other members of the Order will need to be alerted," she said. "Severus, I can trust you to send a message to everyone, can't I? And Celena, I now doubt that you ought to have witnessed this scene, but I am confident that –"

"My lips are sealed, Professor McGonagall," Celena said solemnly.

"I ought to tell Mr. Filch to check on the house-elves," continued Professor McGonagall, "they were so agitated tonight that I'm afraid they might not be up in time to serve breakfast by eight-thirty. Not that it would be much of a problem, after all, there are no classes today and the castle is nearly empty."

It was only then that Celena remembered today was the first day of Easter break. Portkeys and the Floo network were arranged for the students who were going home for Easter, and only a few would remain at Hogwarts. Celena was looking forward to the peace and quiet of the next days.

Not everyone, however, were leaving. Some especially eager O.W.L and N.E.W.T students remained, not wanting to miss two weeks of access to the school library. And Dennis Creevey, his friend Martin Nordholm, and Melissa Hanson were also to remain at Hogwarts, attempting to cope with their increasingly stressful load of work and start revising for their exams, which would determine whether they would be able to go on with their selected N.E.W.T classes in their seventh and final year of school.

After Hagrid shouted at Dennis, gave him detention for the next day (prepare a selection of food for Flobberworms) and took him to Gryffindor tower, Dennis pulled Martin out of his bed and the two of them sat together until the break of dawn in the empty and quiet common room, talking in hoarse whispers.

"What on earth were you doing in the greenhouses at that hour? " asked Martin, shaking his head in exasperation.

"I told you, I needed some fresh Mandrake leaves for a potion I'm experimenting with, and – well, I doubted Professor Sprout would just give them to me if I asked. Besides, they're best when picked at three in the morning."

"And then –"

"And then I saw Celena – Professor Costello – coming up from the direction of the Forest – she was almost running, and looked flustered and – and sort of confused. I wanted to follow her, and then I saw Snape coming from the same direction. He was walking very slowly, and his robes were torn, and he had his wand in his hand and the queerest expression on his face."

"So you think they were in the Forest together? Why would they be?"

"I don't know. Couldn't have been a coincidence, though, could it? They were coming up the same path. And something fishy definitely happened there."

"Still, you shouldn't have gone prowling all over the castle at night! Do you realize how much homework we have to do during the holidays? And you are already going to waste one day on chopping lettuce for Flobberworms!"

Dennis shook his head.

"Say what you will, mate, but I'm not going to take my eyes off Snape."


	22. At Shell Cottage

Normally, Celena wouldn't have hesitated even for a moment as to the first thing she was to do after next morning's excruciatingly quiet breakfast: talk to Fleur. But as it was, it took her an hour of passing back and forth in her office until she plucked up the courage and threw a handful of glittering Floo powder into the fireplace. Ten minutes later, she was already drinking a cup of coffee in Fleur's neat and spacious kitchen at the Shell Cottage, listening to wave after wave hit the shore, a monotonous sound that soothed her aching nerves. As Celena predicted, Fleur was in a state of rapturous excitement after hearing her recital of last night's events.

"C'est impossible, ma cherie!" exclaimed Fleur, "Really, I can't decide what is more unbelievable – what is going on at 'Ogwarts, or what you just told me now. Imagine zat, zis morning as we were 'aving breakfast, Bill gets a note by owl and goes off, and now you're saying that…" Fleur giggled.

"Oh, it's not very amusing really, Fleur," said Celena, "I could never have imagined – but, of course, maybe I'm making more of it than it is. After those Dementors, and Hagrid's firewhisky, and talking about Lily Potter – we were both winded up, no wonder he…"

"Well, cherie, Bill and I 'ave known Snape for longer than you 'ad, and I can tell you zat 'e's not a man 'oo would normally lose 'is 'ead. I 'ave never 'eard of 'im taking a liberty with a woman – any kind of liberty. So, if anything, you are not exaggerating – you are underestimating your effect on 'im. And well," Fleur leaned closer, "what are you going to do now?"

Celena opened her mouth but was unable to say anything. What _was_ going to happen now? _Did_ she want anything to happen? She had tried again and again to convince herself that the kiss was entirely unexpected, that her relation to Snape had always been one of mutual dislike, that she couldn't possibly contemplate anything different - yet when she was alone, she could not deny that her interest in Snape has grown over the past months into a burning desire to know him better, and that from a purely loathsome, menacing figure, he grew in her eyes and gained her respect and, she had to admit, even some sympathy. What could happen if he held her again, as he did last night, and kissed her? Would she resist? Would she put on a mask of shock and offence? Would she tell him it could never be?.. Or would she melt again, surrender to the pull of those strong, lean arms, to the kisses of that hungry mouth?

"I don't know, Fleur," she said feebly.

"'E ees not bad-looking," Fleur said briskly, "not one of ze most amiable men I 'ave known, that's for sure – but I daresay 'e can eemprove with a good companion. What 'e needs is a wife 'oo makes sure 'e dresses well and 'as fun from time to time…"

"Fleur!" Celena burst out in an unconvincing laugh, "you cannot possibly be thinking – no way –"

"Why not?" Fleur looked unabashed, "Why does eet seem so strange to you? 'E spends all 'is time locked up in 'Ogwarts, not seeing a decent looking woman for years an' years, and then you arrive. You are beautiful, ma cherie. You are charming and your intelligence is enough to meet 'is. 'E 'as been alone for many years – and then you break up with your Whitechapple boy… eet all makes perfect sense when you theenk about eet!"

"You really don't know what you're talking about," Celena persisted, refusing to give in, "all his life, he has loved Lily Potter. Even now, it appears to me that he is so devoted to her memory –"

"You admire 'im!" Fleur made a triumphant observation, "There's no way you can deny it, Celena! I admit I was never particularly fond of 'im, but I'll bet anything being with you will bring about a most desirable change –"

"Fleur –"

"Non, non, non! I shall not listen to any more of zis. I daresay you will confess soon enough. And I will say more, Celena. I believe you will be better off with Snape than you would ever 'ave been with Timothy Whitechapple."

Celena snorted. "I would be better off with any honest man than with what Timothy had turned out to be."

"You know what I mean. Snape's fault is in 'is manner, 'is appearance alone, whereas Timothy... what 'e did, it was unpardonable."

Celena knew Fleur was right. Timothy had good looks, manners and breeding, but he had not the solid understanding, temper, or principles that would make him a man of honor. Severus Snape, on the other hand, might not be the most agreeable man in the world, but she could never imagine him engaged in petty deceit.

"And you 'ave no need to go back to 'Ogwarts today, there are no classes and you are not 'Ead of 'Ouse. Please do stay – Bill's parents are coming for dinner tonight, and per'aps 'Arry and Ginny too. I need an 'elping 'and with setting things in order."

So Celena spent a very pleasant day at Shell Cottage, helping Fleur clean, organize, decorate, cook and set the table, trying to avoid her heavy hints about how she should practice for _her_ own household. At the pretty, cheerful dining room, they carefully set the table for nine persons ("Oh, I never know wiz these Weasleys, someone always stops by unexpectedly. What if ze twins decide to come too, or per'aps Charlie or Percy?"). As the table became laden with elaborate dishes of Fleur's French cooking, the sky outside grew steadily darker and both young women changed into Fleur's dressing robes. Fleur wore a gown of flowing, pale silver and lilac, and pressed jade dressing robes on her best friend, along with a magnificent matching necklace. Fortunately, Celena and Fleur have always been of the same size.

The doorbell rang and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley came in, followed, as Ginny predicted, by their daughter Ginny and her famous fiancé, Harry Potter, with the Weasleys' youngest son Ron and his girlfriend Hermione bringing up the rear – two unexpected guests who made Celena realize how wise Fleur was to provide extra food and plates just in case. Both young couples looked so radiant that Celena felt a pang in her heart, but bravely managed to hide it as she beamed at Mrs. Weasley, to whom she had been introduced before and whom she liked very much.

"Hello, Fleur dear," said Molly Weasley, kissing Fleur on the cheek, "and I see Celena is here, what a lovely surprise! I was at Diagon Alley the other day, had to visit Gringotts and I stopped at "Costello Concoctions" – had a short chat with your parents, Celena, they are the most delightful people – and where is Bill?"

Celena shot Fleur an almost imperceptible look and noticed the tiniest crease of worry on her friend's smooth forehead. Where, indeed, was Bill?

"Bill was not sure when 'e would be back tonight," explained Fleur in a would-be-casual voice, "so 'e asked us to begin without 'im – I do 'ope 'e turns up before dinner gets cold –"

That particular worry of Fleur's was, it turned out, in vain. The moment they took their seats and prepared to enjoy their first course, Bill staggered in, soaking wet, covered with dirt, limping slightly and supported by… Severus Snape, whose long black traveling cloak was ripped at places but who otherwise looked quite unscathed.

"Bill!" exclaimed Fleur.

"Bill!" cried out Mrs. Weasley, "What on earth have you been doing, dear? Have you been attacked?"

"No – not now, Mom – it's my own fault – but I'm fine, just fine, thank you. Fleur, I'm going upstairs to change. No, no, I'll manage on my own. I'll be down in a minute. Excuse me, everyone."

Slowly, achingly, Bill started climbing up the stairs, which left Snape standing awkwardly before the group, to whom he gave a curt nod directed at no one in particular. Celena was glad she was sitting there in the midst of people, safe between Fleur and Mrs. Weasley. Snape did not make any gesture of recognizing his former students, except for Harry Potter, with whom he was linked, as Celena knew, by a mutual bond of saving each other's lives.

"Professor Snape," Harry boldly stepped forward, stretching out his hand for a brief handshake.

"Potter," Snape nodded, promptly letting go of Harry's hand. "Well, I had better get going."

Fleur, however, wouldn't hear about it and insisted that he should stay while pouring torrents of gratitude upon him for helping Bill. Celena tried to stick an elbow between her ribs without anyone noticing; she was full of mute indignation towards her friend, who seemed determined to put her in an awkward situation. But if anything, it seemed to make Fleur even more determined.

"No, no, don't even theenk about it, Professor Snape – 'ow could I possibly allow you to leave without taking a bite to eat, after you 'elped Bill come safely 'ome! No, you must stay for dinner," and with a flick of her wand, she drew an extra chair and summoned another set of plates and cutlery that came zooming from the kitchen and landed with a loud clink upon the table, on Celena's left side.

Feeling distinctly hot and uncomfortable, promising herself to kill Fleur next time they were alone, Celena ate her salad in what she considered a dignified silence. She was doing her best to avoid brushing her elbow against Snape's. She knew Fleur's outfit is perfect on her, softly flowing and clinging to her curves, its deep green velvet contrasting with the white skin of her arms, which were exposed down from the elbow where the wide sleeves fell down. Her hair was pulled up and elegantly twisted, and a few strands were deliberately set loose to frame her face. She knew she looked exquisite, but did he notice at all? Furious with herself for thinking about it, Celena feigned interest in her food.

Even though she tried hard to prevent this, her thoughts kept coming back to the man who was now sitting next to her, eating little and talking even less. What was hiding, she wondered, behind the unimpressive façade of a quiet and lonely life as a Hogwarts teacher? How did he come to be a Death Eater? Where and how did he grow up? What was he like during his school days? Was he tempted by the Dark Arts, or merely seeking some shared glory?

"Any news, son?" asked Mr. Weasley when Bill came down, wearing dry and clean robes. Both seemed restrained by Snape's presence in the family circle.

"We got paired up with Professor Snape," said Bill, "and – and went to look for a certain person… I'll tell you later, Dad. But anyway, it did not go too well -"

"Where is the rest of your family, Mrs. Weasley?" asked Celena, to stop unwanted musings from flooding her brain.

"Fred and George are with their friend Lee," told Mrs. Weasley, "Percy is dining with Penelope's family - and Charlie," a worried expression came upon her face, "Charlie… I'm not sure what he is doing right now, but he wrote a couple of days ago and said his homecoming would be delayed –"

There was a long silence, penetrated only by the clinking of forks and knives. Snape did not exchange a word with Celena except once when he offered to pour her more wine, and as he did, his sleeve brushed against hers and her heart gave a jolt.

"You admire 'im!" – Fleur's words resonated in her head. Yes, she admitted, that was true. But since when? Since she knew about his devotion to Lily Potter, as opposing to the heartlessness she had suspected him of? Since the time when she mistakenly suspected him of wanting to attack her? "E' ees not bad-looking", said Fleur, and now Celena was calculating this statement. She wouldn't call his prominent features and cold black eyes handsome. But when she remembered his strong arms and the harsh force of his face as he produced a Patronus alongside her, he didn't seem so batlike to her anymore.

She thought he would leave right after dinner, but to her surprise, he sat with them in continued silence near the little coffee-table, sipping his coffee through pursed lips.

"Yes," Celena heard Mr. Weasley tell Hermione, "we are paired randomly now – extra precaution, you know –"

Celena sat listening to, and from time to time squeezing a word in, conversations between Ginny, Harry, Ron and Hermione, and between Bill, Fleur and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Otherwise, the evening was quiet. Too quiet, as a matter of fact.

"The waves!" she suddenly gasped, "I can't hear the waves – can you?"

Everybody exchanged glances. The rush of waves, an inseparable part of the Shell Cottage atmosphere, was gone.

"Did someone follow you, Bill?" asked Ron.

"I don't know – we were very careful –"

"If someone did follow us," said Snape, drawing his wand and getting up, "we probably have the advantage of them thinking there are only three people in this house. I hope the rest of you came well before us?"

"If someone tailed you, I don't think they could have noticed us coming," said Harry.

"Come with me," Bill motioned to the men. "Let's have a look outside. Fleur, Mom, Ginny, Hermione, Celena – you stay here."

"Oh, be reasonable, Bill, I am perfectly capable –" started Hermione.

"So am I," said Ginny.

"Yes, we want to come too," nodded Celena.

"We are wasting time," said Snape, his eyes flashing dangerously in her direction.

"Molly, girls, keep your wands out and ready," said Mr. Weasley, and the men went out.

"That's just ridiculous!" fumed Ginny.

"Absolutely preposterous," added Hermione.

But Mrs. Weasley hushed them, and the five women fell silent, throwing nervous glances at each other and at the windows. Even at this moment of tension, though, Fleur couldn't resist leaning closer to Celena and whispering in her ear,

"'E is most certainly smitten with you!"

"Oh, don't start, Fleur," whispered Celena, blushing.

"I just don't understand," said Mrs. Weasley after a long silence,  
>"why should have someone followed Bill? As far as I know, Bill is not up to something very important right now."<p>

"I'm pretty sure it's Snape and not Bill who they are after," said Ginny.

And again, the house was silent, eerily silent, and minutes ticked away with painful slowness, until all of a sudden, the heavy curtain of silence was lifted, and they could hear the steady rhythm of waves again. A minute later, they heard familiar footsteps of five pairs of feet, and Bill flung the front door open. Mr. Weasley, Harry, Ron and Snape came after him, their wands still out.

"Nothing," said Bill, "We combed every inch around the cottage. Whoever that was, they must have Disapparated."

"Whoever that was," said Snape, pulling on his black traveling cloak, "they were looking for me. I have put you at risk by my presence here. I am going back to Hogwarts."

And without so much as another glance at any of them, he strode out of the door again and shut it behind him, and they heard a faint _pop_ as he Disapparated outside Shell Cottage.


	23. Revelations

After the peculiar episode at Shell Cottage, the rest of Easter break passed uneventfully. For several days, Celena went to London to stay with her parents in the small, cozy flat about "Costello Concoctions", and saw Fleur again – the two of them sat for a while in an outdoor café and went to have a drink in the Leaky Cauldron. Each time they got together, Fleur eagerly demanded to hear of "proceedings" she insisted must be taking place, and each time, Celena truthfully said there is nothing to tell.

There really was nothing, Celena thought. Not if you count a gaze that lingered a second too long, a hardly noticed, tiny breach in unmovable defiance; it was almost easy for Celena to convince herself that the unexpected encounter at the dark and chilly Hogwarts grounds had been no more than a figment of her imagination. Would she have preferred it to be? That was a question she hardly dared to ask herself.

On a rainy day – the last day of Easter break – Snape was sitting in his office, poring over a stack of essays students handed him on the day before vacation began. It looked as though he was absorbed in the sheet of parchment in front of him, but in fact, he was reading the same line over and over again: _"the Expelliarmus spell, in addition to causing the wand spin out of the opponent's hand, may make an earlier curse backfire…" _ He nearly forgot his appointment with Professor McGonagall, and had to hurry from his office and up many staircases until he finally reached the door of her circular office.

"Good evening, Severus," said McGonagall, "as you must have already guessed, we've had no luck so far. Both Remus Lupin and Charlie Weasley thought they were on the right track, but it was all in vain."

"As I expected," said Snape, "I didn't think it would be that easy. They are very evasive. Yet I am certain it was them who followed me back then. Someone from the old gang."

"I think we can be fairly sure what they are after," said McGonagall, "They have Merlin's wand, now they are after Merlin's secret writings, the ones that were never revealed because he thought them too dangerous. They think their master found them before his fall, but never had the time to use them. And they suspect he revealed to you the secret of their location."

"Yes," a corner of Snape's mouth twitched, "and I don't expect them to take my word for it if I told them it wasn't so. So they are after me. I told you once before, Minerva, that it would be wiser for me to retire and go into hiding. Hogwarts would need less security measures if I –"

"Nonsense, Severus," McGonagall cut across him, "you are needed here. The school and you are both better protected while you are here. I will not hear another word about you leaving."

Snape nodded, looking faintly pleased by her answer.

"Now," continued McGonagall, "to the topic we discussed a few days ago. About Celena becoming a member of the Order. Are you still so adamant against it?"

"What has changed?" Snape asked coolly, "Professor Costello is still young, foolish, and doesn't know how to hold her tongue."

"Yet we have younger members," said McGonagall, "you, Severus, were younger than Celena when you first joined the Order. Besides, I personally don't find Celena as incompetent as you attempt to show her. She is a Hogwarts teacher and a very qualified Potion-maker. And she knows most of our happenings anyway."

"I don't trust her," insisted Snape, "she is just like Bill Weasley's wife, that silly blabbering Frenchwoman. Everything about Professor Costello, from the way she teaches her classes to her ridiculously colorful robes, spells out light-headedness. You and Kingsley Shacklebolt are in charge when it comes to the Order. If you made up your mind to accept Celena Costello, I'm afraid my speaking against it will not make much difference. But if you are waiting for my approval, I'm afraid you are wasting your time."

"Very well, Severus," said Professor McGonagall, getting up from her chair. "I will give it some more thought."

When Snape returned to his office, he leaned back in his chair, his head in his hands. He closed his eyes, and two pairs of eyes appeared under his tired eyelids, one emerald green, the other dazzlingly blue. The blue eyes soon were framed by an exquisite, gentle and beautiful face, waves of luxurious chestnut hair and sweet, soft lips, from which he drank so thirstily a mere few weeks ago.

"I know now why Dumbledore trusted you so," her voice rang in his ears, "because he knew you loved Lily Potter."

Lily, brave girl. She was a member of the Order too. First Lily and now Celena. Is he doing the right thing by trying to protect her? If the unthinkable happens, they will all be in danger, and those in the Order will be the first. He must prevent her from plunging headfirst into this –

When did it start? – he wondered. When did his annoyance with this new, young and foolish teacher turn into something entirely different? When she talked about the Order's secret information, and he found himself more worried about her safety than for the safety of the knowledge he was supposed to guard? Or even earlier, when she knocked on his office door, agitated and purposeful and so beautiful, asking him for Liquid Moonlight? He was confused. He felt something stir deep inside him. He thought it was dead and buried forever, many years ago, together with Lily. Yet he was not an old man, and he looked younger and stronger than Remus Lupin, who got married not two years ago, and now enjoyed all the domestic happiness one could possibly imagine –

He opened the window and gratefully accepted the cold curtain of wind and rain on his face.

"...Did you know it's not right to eavesdrop?" Celena tried to sound stern, but she smiled mischievously despite herself.

Korian, who was sitting on the desk in her office, threw back his handsome flaming head and laughed. His tunic and breeches were soaked through, and droplets of rain water flew in every direction from his wet red hair.

"They should have closed the window if they didn't want to be overheard, shouldn't they? Any of us could be climbing up that wall, just for exercise…"

"Are you sure, though?" Celena furrowed her eyebrows, "Merlin's secret books! I was sure they were just a legend."

"If so many things weren't a legend, like the Hallows, like Merlin's wand, why should you doubt the existence of some magical tomes?" reasonably asked Korian. "But what is so special about those books?"

"You see, Kor, according to the legends, the spells contained in them were so powerful and dangerous that even Merlin himself chose to keep those books hidden after his death. No wonder the Death Eaters want to get their hands on them."

"They were definitely talking about those books as though they exist, anyway," Korian assured her.

"Come closer to the fireplace, Kor, you must be freezing," Celena offered, and he gratefully accepted.

"My sister wants to go back to Wyvern wood," he told Celena while he warmed his hands against the fire. "She reckons it will be safer there now, but Goliath disagrees."

"It doesn't sound very prudent," ventured Celena. "A cup of wine, Kor?"

"Yes, please. You are right, it isn't prudent. As a matter of fact, it's utter foolishness. Goliath told her as much, and she threw a fit, and now they aren't talking to each other."

Despite reproaching Korian about eavesdropping, Celena could not help but stop in her tracks and listen when she heard Snape's voice the following evening, emerging from one of the castle balconies.

"So," he sounded almost amused, "panic got the best of you?"

"You know I'm right," Celena heard a female voice, "you are not the only one they are after. They want me too. That's why they went for my clan. They think I know something."

"Well, do you?"

"Not more than you, Snape, and probably not more than them. Do you expect me to track them down and convince them of that, though?"

"No. But did you really think you would be safer somewhere else? Frankly, you are an insult to the supposed intelligence of your kind."

"Your kind"? Celena glanced carefully from behind a wide, carved balustrade, and saw Demona's beautiful figure and poisonous face. She and Snape were standing together. This unusual gathering caused Celena's eyebrows to retreat upward, nearly blending with her hairline.

In response to Snape's last remark, Demona hissed, twitching her tail. She obviously had as little appreciation for Snape as he did for her.

Celena remembered asking Korian about Demona's past alliance with Death Eaters, and how he assured her, "never one of them, no". But it was obvious she was well acquainted with Snape, and she could have been close to Voldemort and his Death Eaters at some point.

"The only thing that might put your clan out of danger," continued Snape, "is for you to go into exile. Then there is a chance that you alone will be followed, and the rest will be left to their own devices."

"Very convenient for you, isn't it!" Demona bared her long white teeth in a snarl.

"My convenience has little to do with it," Snape retorted coldly, "but if you aren't prepared to do this, there is no point in trying to convince your oaf of a husband to return to Scotland. You were already attacked there once, and you will be in even more danger there if you go back. And, for some unfathomable reason, the headmistress of this school values your services."

"Services!" hissed Demona, "Oh, how I wish Goliath were here, to witness how you humans truly regard us – as servants, little more than house-elves. My husband is too full of noble foolishness and loyalty to alliances that disgrace us."


	24. The secret heartache of Severus Snape

Severus Snape stirred three times clockwise, and one counter-clockwise. He then added to the potion, after a few seconds of contemplation, three drops of violet juice. Yes, three drops should suffice. He had relinquished the post of Potions Master, but his private research continued quite in the same venue.

What he needed now was a dash of wormwood powder. Very little, but without it, the potion would not work properly. And for that, he reluctantly admitted, he would have to go to the dungeon storeroom, as he forgot to supply the stock in his own office.

He would rather steer clear of the dungeons. He would rather steer clear of any place where he might encounter Celena Costello alone. He would more likely summon up the courage to find himself back in the Forbidden Forest, facing Dementors. He hadn't been in close proximity to her ever since he had been pressed to stay for dinner by her friend Fleur Delacour, and sat by her side for an hour and a half in a total perturbation of spirits.

But it was lunchtime now, and she will be in the Great Hall with the other teachers. He should be safe, he told himself, rising from his chair and making his way along the torchlit corridor. His steps echoed off the dark stone walls.

He was mortified whenever he recalled what had come to pass after he and Celena had fought off those Dementors. It was very unlike him to give way to his feelings like that, but the relief of having very closely brushed Death's elbow and escaped, the Firewhisky, and especially her standing in front of him and bringing up the greatest pain of his past, with that gentle look and voice of hers… for a moment, he had lost his head. He was but a mortal man, after all, and every man loses his head once in a while. It was folly, of course. Merlin knows what she thinks of him now.

And yet… and yet… her first instinct was to lean into his arms, and only then to run off. Could it mean something – anything?

He shook his head, driving the pestering ideas away. He didn't really indulge a hope of succeeding. Too many objections stood in the way. Celena was much too young, for once. She was part of the Beauxbatons Triwizard Tournament delegation. If she was eighteen at the end of that year, it would make her now, what? Twenty-one, twenty-two? _Too young for you._ And too beautiful by far, too… too much of everything, to ever take notice of a man like him, who was, after all, neither young, handsome, rich nor particularly amiable. Especially to her as she first came to the school, he thought glumly. _You did everything in your power to make her dislike you, Snape. Making enemies is rather a particular talent of yours. _

He had misjudged Celena from the first, he knew that now. He remembered her face vaguely from the Triwizard Tournament year. She was a pretty little thing then, but he had not recognized her as a young woman of exceptionable mind and character. Her skills as a potioneer, her talents as a teacher, could not be ignored for long, even by someone as biased and disposed to think ill as he had been. Her remarkable Reviving Potion, successfully brewed under the most trying circumstances, the achievements she had managed to promote in students he had considered utterly inept – all this was enough to induce his professional respect.

As for his admiration of her person, that was settled even earlier. She was candid, frank, open-hearted, warm-spirited, and sound of principles – everything he could hardly boast of. Her conduct with that dunce Timothy Whitechapple had been irreproachable. As for her ex-fiancé's behavior, Snape could only despise anyone who would be foolish enough to throw away the treasure of such a woman.

He threw open the dungeon door and froze. He had brought her face to his mind, but still he was unprepared to find himself one-on-one with her own fair self. She was sitting at the desk and writing, a plate of sandwiches and a jug of pumpkin juice at her elbow. When she heard him enter, she raised her head from her parchment, and her cheeks were flooded with the deepest blush.

"Professor Costello," he said in an awkward, hoarse voice. "I… apologize for the intrusion. I thought you were at lunch."

"You were not wrong," she said with a faint smile, indicating at the plate of sandwiches. "The work is so piled up now we're at the end of the year that I didn't even go up to my office after morning classes. I resolved to grab a bite right here while I'm drafting my examination papers."

"I was wondering," he cleared his throat, "whether I might take some wormwood powder for a certain brew I'm making."

"Of course," she said, putting down her quill and rising.

"Do not trouble yourself. I know the way to the store cupboard."

She remained on her feet, however, and once he had taken what he came for, she still stood, facing him, and to his infinite surprise and gratification, he saw no hint of impatience in her face, no desire to see him gone as quickly as possible. Still, he was at a loss for words, looking anywhere but at her.

"There is always a lot of work at the end of a school year, isn't there, Professor Snape?" she finally said, blushing deeper. "I find myself rather looking forward to the summer holidays, don't you?"

"Not in particular," he was forced to confess. _Why should I look forward to the holidays if I am to spend them away from live human faces, from everything even resembling friendship, away from… from you?_ "I… I never told you, but I would like you to know that… that…"

"Yes?" she prompted with a gentle voice, and there was such warmth, such encouragement in that _yes_, that he felt his spirits rise and his heart swell despite himself.

"…That your mother's gingerbread cookies were excellent," he finished, his mind all confusion.

"Oh," she said, and instantly, her eyes were downcast, "they were, weren't they? You are most welcome, Professor Snape."

Those were simple words, but they were said in a friendly manner, in a tone that suggested they are now on perfectly good terms, and that all their differences are forgotten. A tone such as that, coming from her, would have soon induced even a man like Severus Snape to say more, and more warmly – but that very moment, they were interrupted by the entrance of a third.

The tall figure of Dennis Creevey could be seen in the doorframe. The boy wore a queer expression on his face, and in his hands he was carrying a stack of parchment.

"Professor Costello," he said, casting a pointed and not too polite glance in the direction of Snape. "I've been upstairs to look for you at your office, but then I thought you might be still here..."

"What is it that you have there, Dennis?" she asked. "Have you been doing more N.E.W.T practice papers?"

"Yes, Professor, and there was a question in the theoretical examination of three years ago I rather thought I should ask you – "

"The sixth-year examination won't be quite at the N.E.W.T level yet, Dennis," Celena said reassuringly, sitting down again.

"I know, but it's on the topic of antidotes, and you said it will surely come up on our examination, Professor, and I really – "

"Alright, Dennis. There are still a few minutes before classes start again. Let's have a look."

There was nothing left for Snape to do but return her nod and walk out of the classroom, thinking privately that Dennis Creevey was certainly showing zeal and skill he had never thought the boy equal to. He had to make allowances, however, for the stimulating power of a certain pair of enchanting blue eyes. He was much mistaken if Creevey had persevered in Potions for academic achievement alone. It rather amused him to think that he and this green boy had chosen the same object of admiration.

Even though he had tried to keep his heart in check, there was a new spring to his step. Her blushing had meant nothing, of course; with all that was unspoken between them, any young woman of moderate sensibility would have blushed. But she certainly seemed more kindly disposed towards him than he felt he had any right to hope. His earlier slights, at least, he wished to believe were rectified and put behind.

To use a commonplace phrase, Celena had rekindled the fire beneath his cauldron. For a long time, all his efforts, his thoughts, his very life were governed by the notion of avenging Lily's death and protecting her son. The dangerous game he played as a double-crossing spy demanded all his time and concentration, and there simply wasn't anything left for other venues. Oh, there had been women, certainly, especially as he was not one to drown his grief in wine, but he would be hard pressed to recall their faces, and he usually felt a twinge of disgust as he walked away, never to return to the same arms again.

The war was done now, however; the debts paid; some doors closed, and once other were opened, it burst on him quite unexpectedly that he did not have to live any longer as a black specter walking through a sunlit world. He was free now; free to recall that there were things like spring, like freshness and pleasure, that he was not yet an old man, and that his heart was, after all, hardened and battered and bruised, but still alive. Now there was the heartache of insecurity, of fearing to make a fool of himself – but it was all infinitely preferable to the complete possession of grief, guilt, vengeance and constant, unyielding risk.

Severus Snape was honest enough with himself to acknowledge that, if he ever receives the merest hint of hope from this fairest, worthiest, most excellent of women, he would not be scrupulous enough to stand aside, despite his wholehearted conviction of her deserving someone better. He didn't know how to bring this about, but he knew he should never let the chance of gaining her slip away. But would the unwavering devotion of someone like himself correspond with the hopes of a young lively woman such as Celena?


	25. Almost a date

**This chapter was inspired by all the readers who felt there should be more Severus and Celena moments in the story. **

"Come off it, Fleur," Celena said wearily, pushing parchment, ink pot and quill aside.

"I certainly _won't_ come off eet," Fleur firmly pushed the quill and parchment back towards her. "Not until I see an owl fly out of zis window." She crossed her arms and looked at Celena expectantly.

"I told you," Celena lowered her voice. "You are deducing far too much from that... incident. It didn't matter all that much," she said with an affected little laugh which left Fleur entirely unconvinced. "It was just a... moment."

"Severus Snape ees not a man for... moments," said Fleur with a determined glint in her eye. "Eef 'e kissed you, 'e must 'ave wanted to do zat for a long time."

Celena rolled her eyes. "Yes, I'm sure he daydreamed about this. He taunted me in front of my students and did his best to make me feel like a foolish little girl, and all the while he saw in his mind's eye how he's going to get me out of my -"

"I know 'e wasn't... nice, but zis doesn't mean 'e wasn't attracted to you all ze same," Fleur said patiently, as if explaining something very simple and obvious to a stubborn three-year-old. "And _you_ are interest in 'im too, zat ees a fact."

"How do you work that one out?" Celena crossed her arms in turn. Fleur leaned a little closer.

"You are theenking about Timothy far less zan I feared you would," she said, smiling. "At first eet was an act, I know - and you played your part well... but now I can tell you really are over 'im."

Celena sighed. "What is it that you want me to do?"

"Send 'im an owl," said Fleur, "and ask 'im to meet you in 'Ogsmeade over the next weekend, so zat you can discuss the study program you 'ave planned for next year."

Celena looked at her as if she had lost her mind. "I don't need to meet him in Hogsmeade for that, we can talk in his office, or mine."

Fleur seemed genuinely amused. "What you need," she said, "ees a pretext to get 'im out of school, so you can sit and talk over some drinks. You know," she paused, "like a date."

"I don't imagine Severus Snape ever went on a _date_," Celena protested.

"I know," Fleur nodded sagely. "Zat is why eet ees up to you to eemprove 'im."

"I have no intention of improving anyone," protested Celena, but to no avail. Fleur tapped her fingers on the table impatiently, and Celena threw up her arms in a gesture of surrender. "All right," she took the quill in her hand, "but what should I write?"

... The following Saturday, Celena stood at the entrance to The Hog's Head. She took a small hand mirror out of her bag and checked out her reflection with nervous apprehension. She dressed less carefully than Fleur advised her to, less than young witches were instructed at Beauxbatons Academy, but somehow she doubted it would make much of a difference either way. Severus Snape was not a man to be hoodwinked by appearances.

She took a deep breath, did her best to ignore the fluttering in her stomach, pushed the creaking door and entered. She had only been at The Hog's Head once before, and the place looked even gloomier than she remembered. A thin, grey-bearded barman was wiping glasses behind the counter, deprived of other employment as the bar was almost completely empty. Celena spotted Severus right away; he was sitting at a corner table, waiting for her, and got up on his feet when she entered. She wound her way through the maze of shabby chairs and tables, until she was standing in front of him.

"Professor Costello," he inclined his head slightly.

"Good afternoon, Professor Snape," she said, trying not to sound too awkward. Privately she felt very cross with Fleur. "I hope you don't mind my choice of place. It's not as merry as The Three Broomsticks, but not as crowded either."

"Not at all," he assured her. "I confess I don't frequent this bar, but it does have its..." he cast a dubious glance at the dusty wooden panels, "atmosphere," he finished. "What would you like to drink?" he asked. "Here, I wouldn't recommend anything but the red wine."

"Red wine will be good," Celena nodded, sitting down, while Snape walked over to the counter to make their order. He returned promptly, and looked at her in silence for a longer time than could be expected.

"I understand there is something you wished to discuss with me, Professor Costello," he finally said, with the air of great awkwardness. "I am at your service."

"Yes," Celena blushed slightly under his gaze. His voice was quite steady, but his eyes betrayed emotions it was not in his custom to show. She reached inside a tote bag she had brought with her, and pulled a thick file out of it. She placed it on the table between them, and at that moment, the barman slouched over and placed a glass of wine in front of each of them, then shuffled away.

"Tolerable," commented Snape, taking a cautious sip of his wine, "but I think it wouldn't hurt them to replace the chipped glasses once in a couple of decades... what is it that you have here, Professor Costello?"

"Some of the plans I've made for next year's Potions study program," said Celena, opening the file to reveal a stack of notes written in her neat, pretty hand. "I would like you to take a look."

"Me?" Severus raised his eyebrows. He looked surprised, but not unpleasantly so. "Why, I was under the impression that you were getting on just fine without my advice."

"I know we've had our disagreements, Professor Snape," said Celena, bravely meeting his eyes, "but the fact remains that you had taught Potions for many years, and are one of the most talented Potion-makers I have ever met. I value your opinion... even if there are some things regarding which we do not see eye to eye."

"Like students whom I would never allow in my class?" Snape browsed the list of those who would be continuing on to seventh-year N.E.W.T classes. "Some of these will never scrap an 'Acceptable' without a heavy dose of Remedial Potions. And Samantha Gardner is unlikely to pass the N.E.W.T examinations at all, if she is anything like she was when I taught her."

"I know, poor girl," sighed Celena, "but she is so determined to try that I simply don't have the heart to turn her down."

"You do realize that a high rate of fails among your N.E.W.T students does not do good to your record as a teacher?"

"I care more about the students' records than mine," said Celena. "In some cases, I agree, attempting the advanced level of Potion-making is a clear waste of time... but in other instances, it is ambiguous. For some, the mere pass of a N.E.W.T examination means a venue to the career they dreamed about... while, if they are denied the opportunity, there is no hope at all, and no motivation for them, perhaps, to work as hard at other subjects. It is worthwhile to teach not only the most talented, or those who have been good at the subject from the start. You have dismissed Dennis Creevey as a hopeless case, Professor Snape; well, in my classes the boy has made steady progress and has even shown some very brilliant strokes. Although I did have to spend some evening tutoring him, I daresay it was more than worth it."

Snape looked at her intently and was silent for a moment. Celena feared her monologue would make him bristle, but to her surprise, a slight smile appeared on his lips.

"As I said," he paused, "you are getting on just fine without my advice, Professor Costello."

All the same, he took her notes from her hand and flipped through them, looking with interest at timetables and lists of books.

"I think the number of Shield Potions that are made in class should be increased," commented Celena as he leafed through the file. "I also believe it might be beneficial if students are allowed to use the Potions classroom during free periods, for some hands-on training in addition to their theoretical homework. Some benefit from not having the entire class look at them while they are practising."

"That is a good idea, generally speaking," agreed Snape, "although I would recommend attendance by a Prefect during such sessions. By now you know as well as I do that even under a teacher's eye, you might get splashes of unfinished potion all over the walls and ceiling, and someone always uses a rusty cauldron which ends up leaking some poisonous substance."

"Oh, I do," confirmed Celena, "I believe Potions classes give Madam Pomfrey just as much to do as Quidditch sessions."

There was another silence, and Severus Snape was looking at her once more. The cynicism, the irony, the unpleasantness were gone, and his eyes were keen, understanding and intelligent, and there was something else in his face... something that made her heart flutter once again.

"I underestimated you, Professor Costello," he said. "I would not be an honest man if I didn't admit that. I thought you lacked experience and knowledge to teach Potions, but I was wrong. You are more than well suited to the task."

Celena's cheeks glowed pink. "Thank you, Professor Snape," she said.

"As for our other," he cleared his throat, "disagreements... I have been blunt at times, I know, but I was trying to get you away from potentially dangerous affairs. I... I might not know you very well, Professor Costello, but I recognized your spirit quite soon. You know no fear... even when it should be deemed common prudence to be afraid."

The dark eyes were staring into the bright blue ones, deep and intense, and Celena felt a flush creep up her neck. Did this stern, unyielding man just pay her a compliment? _Did this man kiss me, that night in the Forbidden Forest? Or was it just a dream?_

"Well," she said lightly, "this summer, I believe I will be as far from danger as can be imagined. Summers are usually hectic time at the family business - Costello Concoctions, you know - and my parents will need every pair of helping hands. Of course, I don't plan to spend the entire summer in London. Fleur invited me to spend some time with her, and Professor McGonagall told me she is planning a staff reunion for a couple of days in Brighton, sometime around mid-July... do you think you will attend, Professor Snape?"

She knew very well that such rallies were held for the Hogwarts staff every summer, and were particularly enjoyed by Professor Sprout and Madam Pomfrey. She also knew Severus Snape hasn't attended a Brighton weekend with his colleagues in living memory, so she expected to hear a negative. He surprised her once more, though.

"I might," he said cautiously. "It... depends."

"On what?" Celena dared to ask. Unexpectedly, he leaned closer.

"Do you remember how we first met?"

Celena blinked, confused and a little discombobulated at the possible implications of this question. "Why, yes," she said cautiously. "It was in Professor McGonagall's office on September the first."

But Snape shook his head. "I meant the time when you arrived at Hogwarts for the Triwizard Tournament. The carriage pulled down and you all stepped out, shivering with cold and looking apprehensive. Fleur Delacour was standing beside you."

Celena looked at him, gratified that he should remember such a detail. And most people would say _she_ was standing beside Fleur, not the other way around.

"You don't remember, perhaps," he suggested.

"Oh, but I do," Celena hastened to say. "You stood there, so austere-looking, and Fleur and I hoped you are not one of the judges," she smiled wistfully. "That was a fun year, for the most part... for me, at least. Fleur was the one to get landed with all the hard work."

"Hard work indeed," the corner of Snape's mouth twitched sarcastically. "Photo shoots and interviews and opening balls."

"You must know it was much more than that!" protested Celena. "It was pure chance Fleur didn't tie for championship with Harry Potter, or she could have ended like poor Cedric Diggory. She was as good as any of them. Yes, she was," insisted Celena, dismayed by the look of skepticism on Severus's face. "You think Fleur is just a silly little woman, that she is vain and empty-headed."

"No," Snape said firmly. "I do not. I used to think so of you," he admitted sheepishly, "and I couldn't have been more wrong. I learn from my mistakes."

Both his gaze and his voice were so earnest that Celena felt a little overwhelmed. There was power in the man sitting across from her. She was about to say something when their conversation was interrupted by a little man with small, rather bloodshot eyes and matted ginger hair, who sauntered over to their table.

"Snape!" he called out. "Fancy meeting you 'ere!"

Severus turned around, and his features instantly rearranged themselves into the well-known scowl. "Mundungus," he said.

"I was going to go up to the school to look for you, but stopped 'ere on my way, to 'ave a drink or two - and there you are. I need a word with you, Snape," the man lowered his voice conspirationally.

"Surely it can wait?" Snape said irritably. "I am in the middle of something."

"So I see," smirked Mundungus, looking insolently at Celena.

"Professor Costello," Severus spoke to her once more, "this is Mundungus Fletcher, the most shameless sneaking thief I have ever had the misfortune to meet. I wasn't expecting to see you any time soon, Fletcher. Weren't you supposed to be under interrogation for the attempted import of fake Veela hair from Bulgaria? How did you wriggle out of that one?"

"I have my methods," Mundungus Fletcher grinned shamelessly, "and it doesn't hurt to know the right people, either."

"As I said, he is a sneaking..."

"But I can be useful," Mundungus interrupted defensively.

"You can," confirmed Snape. "Otherwise, you wouldn't be tolerated."

"Can we go up to the castle and talk?" asked Mundungus. "It's about you-know-what," he added in a dramatic whisper.

"Oh, very well," Snape said in an exasperated voice. He paid for the wine, and the three of them walked out of the bar. Snape and Mundungus Fletcher were to continue in the direction of Hogwarts, while Celena planned to pass through the post office.

"I will see you at dinner, Professor Costello," said Severus Snape by way of goodbye. She looked after him for a long time, and he looked back once.

It appeared that all her conversations with Severus Snape were destined to be interrupted. She didn't know whether she felt frustrated about that, or relieved. But she was glad, at any rate, that she had listened to Fleur.


	26. A sea of trees

In the weeks that followed obtaining these two crucial bits of the puzzle that has been unraveling before her since the school year began, Celena led an almost normal life. The days were getting warmer, the nights shorter, and Dennis Creevey more desperate. Despite his many protests, Celena pointed out that he's becoming too good to really need extra tutoring, and decided to cut off the private lessons, gently explaining she has too much work at the moment, preparing her O.W.L and N.E.W.T classes to spare any more time that term.

Not that it was a lie, of course; there was more than enough work to be getting on with – on top of routine homework and lesson-planning, practice papers needed to be checked and handed back in with corrections, and there were nights when she fell asleep over a tottering pile of essays, blotching them with red ink. Even for those students who weren't doing their O. or N.E. that year, exams needed to be composed, checked, double-checked and approved by Professor McGonagall. The Potions inventory needed to be tracked and recorded, orders made for the exams and personal student files needed to be updated and when needed, passed on to their Heads of House.

As spring wore on into summer, some of her students gave in more and more to excitement, adventure, mischief and, in some cases, slacking, sensing the upcoming end of term. She, too, was looking forward to the vacation ahead, to an opportunity to clear her head, but she already knew it wouldn't be possible to lay her heart aside for several long months.

Her parents came to see her one weekend, and enjoyed many fond memories while walking through the school grounds. Another weekend, she managed to carve out a few hours to go to the Shell Cottage again and visit Fleur. Mostly, however, she was busy with her work, apart from an occasional fleeting visit to Hagrid's cabin.

Timothy tried to write to her once, but she chucked his letter into the fire without even opening it.

One lonely evening, as she was returning to the castle from a short walk, saw Goliath and Demona bathing in the lake. The water was still cold, but gargoyle skin is less sensitive to cold, and Celena could only assume they didn't mind the giant squid. Demona was leaning against his massive chest, resting her head on his mighty shoulder.

"I'm glad you are more reasonable now, my love," Celena heard him murmur. "Let us not fight anymore. You know I love nothing better than to be in peace with you."

"If you were sensible, you would let me do the only thing that could avert the danger from the rest of the clan," started Demona, but her husband hushed her:

"Don't, my beauty. Don't even mention it anymore."

"I cannot do it anyway. I cannot bear to part from you again, you and Angela…"

"It won't happen. That time is long past. You will not pay with another exile – don't worry, better kiss me, love."

Celena hastened her footsteps away from the lake, trying to walk as quietly as possible, feeling oddly lonely.

She didn't find out any more news about either the missing wand or Merlin's secret writings. In fact, she hadn't been able to get any bit of new knowledge since the conversations she and Korian overheard (she still couldn't help but feel a twinge of remorse for eavesdropping). She didn't, however, lose hope that she might yet be allowed to join the Order. And one night, quite late, when she was already thinking of undressing and going to sleep, she was summoned by Professor McGonagall – but not to her office; she was called to an empty room on the ground floor, and she understood why when after hurrying down many flights of stairs, she opened the door and saw Firenze.

It was the most peculiar sight. In that wide, large room on the ground floor, Firenze was surrounded by people Celena knew to be members of the Order of the Phoenix: McGonagall was there, and Snape, who looked very ferocious as she watched him out of the corner of her eye, her uncle Remus, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Bill and Charlie Weasley and several other people who were strangers to her. Some of the gargoyles were there too. Demona was leaning against Goliath, and Angela was hurriedly whispering into Korian's ear. Korian gave Celena a small wink when she entered.

Firenze, even though not very solemn – not for a centaur, at least – had never looked particularly gay, but now there was something in his face, something exceedingly vibrant, as he welcomed Celena. He stretched out his hand and Celena took it, seeking his brilliant blue eyes.

"Celena Costello," he said, "kin of the forest folk. I honor you. Your efforts have worked out magnificently."

"Efforts?" Celena repeated blankly, "But I – I didn't really –"

"Communication," said Firenze, "is often the missing link between humans and other intelligent creatures. You provided that link."

"The local dryads are on our side now, Celena," Lupin said, beaming, "and spreading the message of their allegiance throughout the country. Soon, no forest in Britain will be safe for the Death Eaters and their allies –vampires, gremlins…"

"Werewolves," Snape interjected sardonically.

"… and werewolves," Lupin nodded, unabashed. "That's a powerful alliance you helped form, Celena. I doubt it could have been done without you."

"This will help with minor distractions," said Firenze. "So we can focus on the main mission."

"Which is what?" asked Celena.

"I have gazed at the stars," replied Firenze, "and was warned of the danger looming ahead…"

Out of the corner of her eye, Celena noticed Hagrid suppressing a yawn, and Charlie Weasley nudging him slightly in the ribs – a gesture that was almost unnoticed by Hagrid. Celena had to fight back a grin.

"The danger is grave," continued Firenze, "but not imminent. It can be prevented. And to do that, we must…"

"Find the wand and the books?" asked Celena.

"No," Firenze shook his gorgeous head, "not the wand, not the books, not other material objects, for these are merely vessels of magic, not its source. No, you must focus on finding the boy. I cannot know his whereabouts right now, but every plan you make, every scheme you draw, must be centered on finding him. It is crucial. Without it, the wizarding world will slide into times even darker and more dangerous than before. But you are experienced now. You humans must have realized, and if not, you must realize it soon, that you cannot do it alone."

"My clan is at the service of those who fight Dark magic," said Goliath in his low, rumbling voice, "I lend you our wings, and our eyes, ears and teeth and claws."

Hagrid clapped Goliath on the shoulder, and Professor McGonagall gingerly shook the big taloned hand. Demona scowled, but said nothing.

"From giants to house-elves," continued Firenze, "from centaurs to bowtruckles, no ally you can make to fight evil magic should be disregarded and underestimated. And now, if you men – and gargoyles – come up one of the castle towers, I think you can all see something rather impressive."

And without saying another word, he abruptly turned around and left, his hooves clunking upon the floor.

Going upstairs between Bill and Kingsley, Celena felt puzzled; when they reached the terrace of the Astronomy Tower, she was already tired and out of breath and envious of the gargoyles who easily flew up. But when she looked beyond the balustrade, she forgot about the discomfort in her aching and legs.

It seemed as though the Forbidden Forest turned into a gushing and splashing sea; even at this distance, it was evident that the trees were rustling, moving, whispering, leaning towards one another. The Forest had never seemed so much like one living, breathing being. Whatever their state of affairs in finding the boy might be, Celena thought, in the dryads they have a valuable alliance. And it was she, Celena, who played an indispensable part in forming it, she thought with exhilaration.


	27. A promise

Celena wanted to dwell and dwell on that glorious night long after it was over, but it was exam time, and soon it was her duty to examine hundreds of frightened, fidgeting, nervous students, some of whom didn't even know the difference between boomslang and bezoar, who weren't familiar with a single magical property of glowing nettle. Her O.W.L classes should do pretty good, though, she estimated; and some of her N.E.W.T students even received exclamations of utter delight from the examiners, which got her hopes up for at least a few "Outstanding" N.E..

Students were already longing for vacation, and many of the teachers did too. But now Celena knew that she will not be able to spend this summer quietly, helping her parents run "Costello Concoctions" and enjoying her mother's excellent cooking, visiting Fleur and Bill at Shell Cottage and taking long walks with Fleur along the shore. A decision began forming at the pit of her stomach, at the very core of her being as she lay awake on the long warm nights. And on the last day of exams, after the students got up from their chairs and breathed a collective sigh of relief, she made her way among them as they filed out of the classroom, carrying with them their sweet, childish woes and worries, complaining or else talking excitedly. Celena shivered slightly with the thrill of finally making a move, as she approached a tall figure in billowing black robes and looked up.

"Professor Snape," she said, "we have a pending conversation, I think."

He looked at her with a mixture of resignation, defiance, and – what was it? – she couldn't be sure. Before she knew it, they were walking in silence, through the grounds that were filled with students celebrating the end of exams, past the Quidditch pitch, past the greenhouses, where emptiness stretched out all around them.

Is he ever going to say something? Or will she have to break the uncomfortable silence? She had no idea what else to say. And then suddenly, she was in his arms, his face very close to her own, and he was saying quietly, his voice hoarse:

"Walk away now, Celena, walk away, because I cannot bring myself to do it."

Celena felt her head swim, and her knees seemed to be made of marshmallow, but she found the strength to reach out for his hand.

"Think," he continued, his voice pleading, "I entreat you to think! I'm much older than you, and you know my past. I have already walked down the path of love and hatred, treachery and bitterness, hope and despair. Many years in the dark, without a trace of hope. What can I possibly offer you?"

"Your past isn't unblemished," said Celena, "but bigger and better men than I respect you for it."

"The Dark Mark will forever remain burned into my skin," he ploughed on, "and they will not let go. The Death Eaters will continue to hunt me down, especially now that the Order is on a mission. They might try to get to me through you if they know we are involved. I could put you in danger. I have no right – I couldn't possibly live with that –"

Celena drew herself closer to him and ran her fingers through his hair and across the lines on his face; she looked into his eyes, smiled slightly, and said:

"Nice try, Severus."

Fleur's words rang in her head again – "You admire 'im!" – and she did, she knew that now. He had a dark past and was not a smooth-talking charmer as the young men she had previously associated herself with, but he was loyal, and brave, and steady in his affections. Celena ran a gentle hand across the deep scars on his neck and pressed her lips to his.

"Does this mean you will…" he started, breathing heavily, when they broke off.

Severus Snape was not a man of romantic effusions, but at that moment he could do enough to speak clearly and warmly, if not very eloquently, and offer himself to her, hand and heart, and give her such a confession of feelings that was very graciously and encouragingly received. Within half an hour, everything was settled between them, their destiny decided, and, the happiest of beings, they walked across the Hogwarts grounds, hardly knowing where they were going. Even though Celena could not exactly recall what was said between them, those were minutes of exquisite felicity.

They were married a week later, in an intimate and discreet ceremony at Fleur's parents' summer cottage, which they delightedly volunteered for the occasion. Only a limited number of people knew about the wedding. Snape insisted on the secrecy.

"I cannot put you in danger," he said a day before they became a husband and wife, "for now, you are away from the center of their attention, and I intend to keep it that way. As my wife, you will be constantly threatened. Do not be mistaken – there is nothing they are incapable of. It will be this way for an indefinite period. You will not even be able to wear your ring."

Celena looked disappointed. He cupped her beautiful young face in his hands and said in an urgent voice:

"You see, this is precisely why you shouldn't marry me."

But Celena only smiled. Despite all he said, she knew he was not a man to give up because of fear.

No one from the Hogwarts staff, except Professor McGonagall and Hagrid, knew their secret. Only a handful of guests were invited: Celena's parents, Uncle Remus and his family, Fleur and Bill and Monsieur and Madame Delacour. Quite unexpectedly, Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley arrived as well. Harry shook hands with Severus, who seemed at a loss for words.

"Congratulations," he said, "I hope you have many happy years together, Professor Snape – Mrs. Snape - "

"You look lovely, Celena," said Fleur, pulling her into a tight embrace and, to Severus Snape's astonishment, standing on tiptoe to kiss him on both cheeks. "And you too, very 'andsome today, Severus."

Celena was wearing a long, flowing, simple white dress with wide pointed sleeves, tailored precisely to her small waist. The hem on her dress and sleeves was embroidered in silver. Snape decided to forgo his usual black, and was wearing dark blue robes.

"'Ave you decided where you are going to live?" Fleur asked briskly. She was always very practical.

"Uh, as a matter of fact, Fleur –"

"I understand – eet was all so sudden! I thought I wouldn't have ze time to find a dress! Anyway, I know ze perfect place for you two – a cottage in 'Ogsmeade, it looks so lovely, you must at least check it out. I'm sure you will love it."

After the ceremony ended, everyone congratulated them again, with many handshakes and hugs.

"I wish yeh much happiness, Celena," said Hagrid, squeezing her shoulders. He looked as though he had had too much champagne, "though I must tell yeh, it wasn' anythin' any of us expected –"

In the meantime, Professor McGonagall was shaking Snape's hand.

"So, Severus," she said, with an unusual twinkle upon her normally stern face, "you are full of surprises, it appears! I confess I was astonished at first – but I am certain you and Celena will be very happy, you are perfectly suited to one another when one thinks of it."

"Thank you, Minerva," Snape nodded. He was not used to being the center of attention, and was feeling distinctly hot in the face.

"I understand this might not be the right moment," continued McGonagall, "but I surmise we will be in shortage of a Potions teacher next year once again. Do you know anyone you can recommend?"

"Actually, I think you will need a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher," said Snape, a trace of a smile upon his lips, "if you let me have my old post back."

"What? Severus, am I delirious, or are you actually resigning your dream job of so many years?"

"Teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts did not quite live up to my expectations," explained Snape, "after this year, I felt how much I actually miss my dungeons, and inhaling the fumes of a Shrinking Solution or Befuddlement Draught."

"Oh well," sighed Professor McGonagall, "here we have proof, once more, that the Defense Against the Dark Arts job is jinxed. I don't remember whether someone ever lasted more than a year."

They danced a bit to the sounds of a wooden wireless, as of course, there was no band to play live music. The newlyweds opened the dancing, and Bill and Fleur followed soon after. Hagrid offered a hand to an apprehensive Professor McGonagall. Celena found herself counting the minutes until the guests would be gone.

The respite will be short – that was her last thought when they were alone at last, and his lips were once again on hers, and his hands on the fastenings of her gown. Soon, it would all begin again – messages to and from the Order and mysterious disappearances into the night, searching for information and planning and scheming, spying and hiding. But for now, it was just the two of them, and the rest of the world was gone. She inhaled the warm, sweet, scented summer air that drifted in through the windows. The world was full of uncertainty, but tonight, they were beginning a new life.

And it held a promise.

- The End –

If you liked this story, you will probably enjoy the sequel – "Celena Costello: Under a False Name", which focuses on the Celena's relationship with Severus and the beginning of their life as a married couple.

_Footnote_: I have been told that the love story of Celena and Severus is reminiscent of Marianne Dashwood and Colonel Brandon (Sense and Sensibility). Although I love S&S, I never thought of that while I was writing this story, but now I believe I must have been subconsciously influenced, because there really is undeniable resemblance: a young, pretty woman (Celena/Marianne) is used extremely ill by an unscrupulous young man (Timothy Whitechapple/ John Willoughby), who gets himself engaged to another without bothering to let her know, choosing affluence over affection. In the meantime, the lady is silently admired by an older bachelor with tragic history (Severus Snape/Colonel Brandon), and before long she is able to distinguish who is the worthier character of the two. The resemblance is heightened by the fact that the amazing Alan Rickman acted out both Colonel Brandon and Severus Snape in the S&S and Harry Potter movies. To be sure, Celena is a little older than Marianne, and more level-headed (which helps her get over her romantic disappointment with less pain), but still the template is alike.


End file.
